


The Call of Springtime

by bellbellbinks



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: After the Battle of Winterfell, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Everyone Is Alive, F/F, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Healing, House Tyrell is alive, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Minor Injuries, Minor Theon Greyjoy/Loras Tyrell, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Queen Daenerys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-02-27 19:23:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18745498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellbellbinks/pseuds/bellbellbinks
Summary: “You’re a conqueror, Daenerys Stormborn.”Her whole life she had one goal. The Iron Throne. With her companions by her side, it would be hers. The winter would end. The carnage and death would end. And she would leave the world a better place than she found it.----Multi-chapter story focused on repairing the characters and giving them what they deserve. Takes place after S8E3 but the rest of the show doesn’t happen. Not a lot of political intrigue, a whole lot of comfort. Primarily f/f pairings.





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not a writer and I don't know ANYTHING about GoT but I'm writing this for ME. Pretending that episode 4 never happened. Jon and Dany didn't happen. Nothing bad happened and everything is fine.

###  **Yara**

The battle for King’s Landing was the most difficult fight of her life, and she had seen many. Even more so than experiencing battles, she had lived them and won to tell the tales. The army at her back had won many battles. 

They had faced the dead and lived, destroying the Night King and his army once and for all. But now, staggering her way through the infinite supply of Lannisters and traitorous Greyjoys alike, Yara hardly believed she could survive. 

Perhaps she had chose the wrong side, thinking with her heart over her head. The thought of her queen, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the one true queen Westeros, kept her sword up.

Slashing and stabbing, in a rhythm she had known since the age of eight, just a small girl making a name for herself on the Iron Islands. Her enemies fell, her old brothers fell, as she led the vanguard up to the Red Keep. 

Drogon pumped his powerful wings and the Lannisters below him fell to the ground, stumbling and trying to regain their ground, to no avail. It was a futile attempt to take him down as they shot a flurry of arrows skyward. The second her queen commanded for fire, it poured out of the dragon’s gaping maw, and the Lannisters went up in flames.

Yara looked up, using her left hand to press into the bleeding cut near her stomach. In the sky, her queen looked down at her and nodded. The fire in her eyes was rivaled only by the fire spilling from her dragon’s mouth. 

A chill raced down her spine, from her injuries or from the heated gaze of Dany, she didn’t know. Regardless, she grit her teeth and shouted for her men to charge on. They had a battle to win, and a city to conquer. 

Up ahead, a surly knight pointed with his sword at her directly. He knew from the look in her eyes that she was commanding the vanguard of Daenerys’ forces. She let her men face the militia, the poor sons of bitches who didn’t ask for this war but would die for it nonetheless, as she took his challenge.

The knight had swung his heavy sword overhead, aiming to cut her in half. Yet he was too slow, her quick feet easily avoided the blow and she brought her own longsword up to parry his blade. Their sword hilts clashed, locking together in a duel she knew he would overpower her in. 

She knew this man, one of Euron’s minions. With a grunt, she disconnected and ducked behind him. Her sword slashed at the weak point below his breastplate, just barely cutting into the flesh of his back. It got him to turn around in a flurry, his sword once more darting towards her. 

Back and forth they went, cutting and slashing, dancing around like it was a show.  _ But _ , she thought, _ this is a war _ . A war she intended to win. She was no knight, either. The cold steel of her opponent's weapon bit into her stomach, the same spot she was hit previously, a sacrifice she had to make to get close enough to plunge her sword up through his neck. 

The blood sprayed from the impact, drops of it landing on her cheek and mixing with the rest. All the men she killed, all their names would be forgotten. All their terrible deeds would disappear. All of it would be replaced with Daenerys and her legacy. 

They fought hard and long, it felt like many hours passed as they were working their way up the winding streets and fighting towards the castle. Many of her friends fell, left behind in the chaos that littered the road. Up ahead they watched in awe as Drogon and Daenerys swept over the castle, and the Lannister banners were cut from the walls. 

A loud cheer burst from the crowd. They knew they had won. Consequently, the enemies in front of them knew they had lost. She watched as one by one they let their swords and spears fall from their hands, clattering on the stone ground. Perhaps they were smart, or perhaps they had no love or loyalty for their house. 

Some fought, still. A noble effort, but one that led to their death all the same. Her men cut down those that still fought. She pushed them aside and they parted the way for her to walk further and further up the steps to the throne room. 

Soon she would stand face to face with Euron, and take her revenge by taking his life. He would be the last line of defence for his queen, she figured he would be watching from the steps as the city collapsed. They had destroyed his fleet, took back the ships that were her birthright. 

He was an excellent fighter on the sea, the best. Their drowned god would be proud of Euron Greyjoy, would support him in his conquests. But they were not on the sea, and the drowned god was not here. 

There he stood, leaning against the wall of the castle as she thought he would be. Even on his last day, her uncle was cocky and full of pride. Something that ran in the family, no doubt, as Yara cracked her knuckles and walked up to the man. Bodies were strewn about, his men and her own alike.

“The king of the Iron Islands,” She greeted him. “Hiding from the fight, uncle?”

He took a long drink from the flask at his waist, and gestured to the bodies around him. “I seem to have ended the battle here.”

“The war is over, now.” Yara announced. “You know why I’m here.”

“Of course, of course.” He laughed, a deep, deranged sound. “We have unfinished business. I look forward to taking you down with me.”

He leaped at her, as wild as his eyes. Deftly, she dodged to the side. Her uncle was using two swords this fight, swinging them about like a mad man compared to her steady, singular longsword.

Mad or not, he had more experience than she did. After his first lunge, he came back around to bring his fist soaring towards her face. It caught her off guard, and the punch hit her square in the jaw. His heavy hand combined with the solid steel from his sword hilt nearly brought her to her knees. 

Blood spilled from her mouth and she spat to the side. Where he went high, she went low. In retaliation, she brought her sword around aiming for the back of his legs. As expected, steel clashed against steel as he parried it away. Without a moment to spare, his other sword swung towards her neck. She ducked further, trying to get a few precious moments to regain her ground. 

He nearly had her before she rolled to the side and got back to her feet, slick hands clenched around the hilt of her sword. There, she saw a weakness in his right arm as he twirled his swords around to show off. A slight twinge in the muscles that made the right sword swing slower than the left. It could have been a cut, or may have been an older wound. She filed that in her mind, withholding the emotion on her face so he couldn’t tell she had him figured out. 

“Tired yet?” Euron cackled. Another twirl of his swords. “We’re just getting started.”

She had been mocked her whole life, for being a woman, for fighting like men did, for wanting power. As such, she knew when to focus and when to boast. 

Wordlessly, she smiled and lunged forward, aiming to stab him in the stomach. By reflex, he smacked her sword to the side and brought his right sword down in a slash. It left an opening, she knew she was quicker than him and was counting on the fact that he would attack aggressively. 

Another step in closer, and Yara grabbed his right arm with her left before it came down on her head. A brief look of surprise appeared on his face, before rage took over. He quickly moved to bring the left sword in an upwards cut, but she was swift. It was easy to deflect the blade, dragging the steel together until their sword hilts were locked.

Face to face, they were both panting from exertion. He struggled against her grip for half a second, desperate to get free.

“For Theon.” She twisted her wrist so her sword cut into his side, digging it in as hard as she could. “For my father.”

The man fell to the ground on his knees, dropping one of his swords and clutching his side. The blood poured out too quickly, it was a fruitless effort as he clawed the wound, fingers spreading and trying to keep the red liquid inside.

“For the Iron Islands.” With a well placed kicked, she pushed him aside to die. He screamed at her to finish the job, to be a man and end it.

Yara marched away, towards her Queen. Towards a new life. A new legacy.

 

###  **Arya**

She was back in King’s Landing, to the place her father had died. The place her sister was held captive, and where her family were all branded as traitors of the crown. 

Brown eyes, blue eyes, and green eyes. Eyes she will shut forever. It was time to kill the last name on her list, the most hated woman in the kingdoms. 

Arya walked swiftly down the alleys of the town, dodging soldiers and knights as Daenerys’s forces fought their way to the Red Keep. She should be fighting with them, helping them destroy this accursed capital. Only her goal kept her moving forward, away from the heart of the battle. 

No one knew this path as well as she did. She walked it before, practicing her skills and training to be who she was today. Up ahead, she could see where Cersei set fire to the city and her subjects. Buildings had fallen to ruin, charred bodies littered the ground, smoke heavy in the air. She had no regard for life, and Arya prayed Daenerys would be different. 

She found herself at her destination. With a long exhale, she slipped in through the back door way. It creaked behind her, and all at once the noises died down. Carefully and quietly, Arya stalked her way through the corridors towards the queen. 

Torches lined the walls, and a few scattered guards were slumped down on the ground. They lay dead in their own blood. The unsullied had most likely marched their way through the castle already, she figured. 

There at the end, the door to the throne room was already ajar. The rays of light from the windows illuminated her path. It was almost calming, almost gentle in the way she slipped inside and the door clicked close behind her. 

Cersei sat on the throne and watched as the young wolf approached. She didn’t struggle or fight, there weren’t any weapons on her person. It seemed nearly sad the way she knew she was truly defeated. 

“So, it’s you.” Her voice was as sharp as the crown on her head, as sharp as the throne itself. Her fingers curled around the armrests. Arya watched as beads of blood emerged from where the sharp metal split the skin on the false queens hand. “I imagined it would be the little bird, not the young she-wolf.”

“Sorry to disappoint, your grace.” She said. Her hands were crossed behind her back, feet moving quietly across the empty throne room. As silent as a true killer. 

The battle raged on outside, echoing throughout the massive room and leaving an eerie, empty feeling in her chest. 

Cersei Lannister. Her children were dead. Her father and mother were dead. It was just her left. The proud mother lion, sitting on her throne of death. She crawled and fought her way upon that seat, the seat that wasn’t hers to take. 

Her hand of the queen was dead. His body lay broken on the steps, neck snapped by the mountain. His own foul creation, loyal to Cersei so much so that by her command it took his life before his own. A shame, Arya thought, she was looking forward to killing all of those Cersei knew and loved. 

She stopped, now at the bottom of the stairs to the throne. The two women gazed at each other, the history between their houses could be felt in the air.

“I saw you, before.” The queen broke the silence. The corners of her mouth turned up ever so slightly, almost disturbing. “As your fathers head fell to the ground.”

Arya took in a deep breath, her face unreadable. She could kill her now, very quickly, even make it painful if she wanted to. But this wasn’t her time. Not yet. Not before Jaime.

“You were a child. I wish I could say I felt sorry for what you’ve become. If I played any part in it’s creation.” 

“What have I become?” She asked. 

The queen paused. “No one.” 

The doors burst open and the sounds of battle came in. With it, was Jaime Lannister and Grey Worm. The commanders of Dany’s forces, here to finish the job of sacking the city and throne. 

At the sight of her brother, Cersei rose from her seat. Arya didn’t take her eyes off her prey while they locked eyes. Now that Jaime was here, it was time for her to complete her list. 

The handle of the valyrian steel dagger was cold as ice when she touched it. It hadn’t felt the same since she stuck it deep into the Night King’s belly. She ran her fingers across the decorative hilt behind her back, so that the others wouldn’t see.

Jaime’s face was heartbroken. The first and only woman he’s ever loved, standing before him without backing down from her certain demise. He had killed for her, crippled a boy for her, done unspeakable things for her. For their love. For their children. For their unborn child.

Grey Worm turned to the entrance of the throne room and gave orders to his men, surround the keep and hold it, tear down the banners and declare victory. When he looked over at Arya she nodded at him, to let him know he could trust her to see through that their plan would be finished with the false queen dead. He retreated out the door, following the rest of the unsullied to assist with seeing the city secured.

The kingslayer approached his sister, as if Arya was not even there. She blended in with the shadows and waited for the Lannister twins to say their goodbyes. In his own twisted way, she figured Jaime was a nice enough man to deserve a final moment with her alone. She knew he would beg for her life, and for the life of their child growing inside her.

Part of her wanted Jaime to die too. It was only fitting, they were brought into this world together, it felt right for them to leave it the same way. After all, he told them that he wanted to die in the arms of the woman he loved. 

But she saw the way he looked at Brienne, and the way she looked back at him. And Brienne was loyal to her sister Sansa. If only Jaime knew that the only thing stopping her from killing him with Cersei was Ser Brienne of Tarth.

 

###  **Theon**

All his life he’d been a captive. From when he was a boy, the young ward of Lord Eddard Stark, to the time Ramsay Snow sunk his toxic claws into Theon. Now it was his turn to free those in captivity. The Black Cells beneath the Red Keep were full, Cersei had a lot of important enemies after all. Everyone was accused of treason if they even looked at a Lannister the wrong way. 

First they had found Ellaria Sand, broken and weeping, tied up and gagged in front of her long deceased daughter. He had flinched at the sight of her, all the awful things that the people around him have done. It reminded him of the things he had done. Capturing and killing two innocent boys. Burning their bodies. He betrayed his brothers, he betrayed his sister and his family. “It’s not my place to forgive,” Jon had told him before, “but what I can, I do.”

He fumbled with the metal key, hand shaking as he tried to fit it into the cold lock. After a few seconds of trying, it popped open and he let it clatter to the floor. The door swung open, rusty hinges screeching throughout the room.

Ser Loras Tyrell emerged from the dark cell. His head was shaved, and a nasty looking mark was carved into his skull. Bruises littered his skin, and the once respected knight of flowers could now barely walk. But he was alive. The same alive that Theon was after Ramsay.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” He assured the man. “We’re here to rescue you.” Theon hurried to wrap the man’s arm around his shoulders, taking the weight off his legs and helping him limp out of his jail without a word.

Surely the prisoners here had heard of Queen Daenerys and her conquest of the seven kingdoms. Whether they longed for her arrival or dreaded it, they must have known it would come. 

Out in the hallway, they met up with one of Theon’s men, with a very pale and sickly Margaery Tyrell in tow. The moment Loras saw his sister, a broken sigh escaped his throat. It had probably been months upon months since they had seen the other. Despite their condition, the two Tyrell’s broke away from their rescuers and embraced each other. He pressed his face against her hair and wept, openly and genuinely. And she did the same.

Across his shoulder, Margaery gazed at Theon in return. He saw tears in her eyes, and a fire deep down that raged as strong as his own sisters, as strong as Sansa with her fiery hair, and as strong as Daenerys with her dragons. 

Without words, he knew she was thanking him. Her entire family may have been wiped out, but she and her brother were safe now. He could do no more than nod and shift uncomfortably before heading back to find more captives. 

 

###  **Jaime**

Like the beginning of their story, here he was, and here she was. His sister, his lover, the mother of his children, the inevitable end of it all. She stood tall, and proud, at the top of the steps. Perhaps he was a coward for hesitating before he joined her up there. 

Her green eyes were cold as the stone below them when she looked at him. A part of him thought she would take him down too, as they always planned. A dagger in the heart, or the back, or maybe poison like their children.

He reached her at the top, the same spot he had killed the Mad King. Just barely shorter than him, Cersei’s eyes flickered up to his face. It was different than Brienne, as much as he hated himself for thinking of her now. But Cersei felt like home. She felt like love, or at least the closest and purest thing he’d ever had that could be compared to love. 

He reached out to touch her, his golden hand that had turned black after the shiny exterior had worn away. Before he could, Cersei grabbed the hand and pushed it aside. She shook her head and took a step back. 

“I loved you, and only you. Forever, it’s always been you.” Cersei said. 

She shuddered then composed herself in the blink of an eye. Arya wouldn’t hear, or if she did, Jaime didn’t care. 

The words wouldn’t come. He thought of the years they spent together, their whole lives and the promises of forever. Their legacy, the future of the Lannister legacy. 

“I’m yours.” He spoke. His throat was dry and his heart heavy from the battle. “I’m….sorry for it all.”

It was pathetic. He came here not to fight for Daenerys, but to have a last sweet moment with the love of his life before her inevitable demise. He couldn’t care less about the throne, or who sat upon it. All he craved was Cersei. Yet now, here in her last moments, he couldn’t speak the words in his head. 

Arya stepped forward, and he stepped back. It was planned out, they had discussed a few nights before. He asked her to wait for him to arrive before dealing the final blow. They had sat next to each other as the fire crackled and their comrades drank and sang for the upcoming battle. For all the harm he had done her family, Jaime was shocked when the young girl agreed. It had reminded him of Catelyn. 

The queens jaw clenched, her hands in tight fists beside her rigid body. 

“Go on then, girl.” She spat out, and placed a hand on her belly. “Prove yourself a monster.”

All he could do was look to Arya, with fear in his eyes, and pray for mercy. Mercy for them all. 

The slayer of the Night King had none to give. Not for Cersei and not for any Lannister. 

It was swift at least, as the dagger from behind Arya’s back shot out and ended the life of his one true love. 

As quick as she came, the girl retreated to the shadows. Jaime collapsed with a broken cry and cradled the body of his love. 

The breath escaped him and he felt the world collapsing. Outside he could hear triumphant cheers from Daenerys’ forces.  _ His  _ men. He brought them here to kill his family, and he had won. 

Her red, red mouth twitched, but no words were spoken. Cersei’s unseeing eyes gazed up at him, piercing him to his core. 

He lay her body down at the foot of the throne. After a quiet moment, he stood and sat upon the seat, as he had done many years before. Kingslayer, they called him. Now, they would say Queenslayer. He did not do the deed, but they would call him that nonetheless. 


	2. Sansa, Jaime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the introduction of how Sansa is doing, and some Jaime/Brienne being oblivious.

### Sansa

Sansa rolled the scroll back up, placing it on the table. _Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen asks for all Lords and Ladies of the realm in alliance with House Lannister to lay down their arms and swear fealty. Bend the knee and your war crimes will be forgiven. If rebellion persists, then the traitors will be cut down._

It was now true, Dany and Jon had conquered King’s Landing and taken the Iron Throne. Ravens were sent to each corner of the realm, informing the citizens of the land.

No time at all had passed and the new queen already sounded the same as the last. Nevertheless, Sansa felt relieved. Jon would be on his way back soon, Arya too, after the council meeting that would decide the future of the realm.

They were the last Starks. Better than being the last Lannisters, such as Jaime and Tyrion. Arya would be filling in for her as the voice for the North. She loved Jon, loved his dedication, his messy hair, loved him like a brother. But he was not part of the North any more, he couldn’t be. Too much had happened. He had loved beyond the Wall, he had lived and died at the Wall. Wolfblood still ran hot in Arya’s veins. The North was entrusted to her by the Lady of Winterfell.

She sat in her room, in the early morning, watching as the snow fell gently onto the ground at Winterfell. It was rumored that they had found Margaery and Loras Tyrell after the sack of King’s Landing. That her friend, perhaps the only genuine friend she had ever had, was alive.

She remembered the way her lips turned up in a smile when she saw Sansa, the way her hands felt impossibly soft and gentle, compared to the men she had met. She remembered the roses she had been given, the way they pricked her fingers and the way she touched the red petals to her nose for the sweet smell. Margaery had laughed. Always laughing, but not _at_ her. Unguarded and open.

It made her want to head south, towards the capital. She wanted to pack her things and leave, take the kings road down until she ran into the arms of the one person who made her feel safe even as a captive of Cersei.

Forever had passed since she craved southern air, but Margaery Tyrell would make her leave her home once more. Duty commanded her to stay. They needed her to command the North. Her people said, there must always be a Stark in Winterfell.

There was a knock on the door to her room, sharp and quick. One of the young servant boys, here to escort her to the great hall, no doubt. She announced for them to enter.

“My Lady,” He said with a bow. “Your people require your guidance at this time.”

“Of course,” She stood from her chair, taller than him, but not imposing. Respect and admiration were stronger than fear. “I thank you for your assistance.”

The snowy air was sharp and caused her to hold her breath the first few seconds after emerging outside. She followed as the young boy led her to the great hall, winding down the staircase and across the courtyard.

It was her childhood home, of course she could make it there herself. But as a Lady now, it was important to not be alone. In her head, she would pick being alone over Ramsay any day.

They were still recovering from the devastation caused by the army of the dead. All of the bodies of the fallen soldiers had been dealt with, and the memorial service was swift. The days that followed the battle were bittersweet, the faces of the men she lost were still etched in the back of her mind. She would never forget.

Now that the dead were defeated, and the Lannisters defeated, all that was left to do was fix the mess they left. Determining food rations, housing, and helping rebuild the North. Bran was by her side, to help give counsel. But ultimately, the North turned to her for instructions.

Queen Daenerys was very clear before she left south, Sansa would have as many resources as she needed, and as many men to help that could be spared. The realm would be ashes and death if it wasn’t for the North fighting back.

The first issue presented to her for the day was from a girl that couldn’t have been more than ten years of age. She stood proud, like Lyanna Mormont, or how her sister once was.

She requested builders to help rebuild her home. Her parents were killed in the battle, and it was just her and her brothers left. They were the only survivors of their small village up north, closer to the wall. Before the dead attacked, there had been twenty civilians.

Bran had told her the night before, that many people they never knew existed would come to them seeking aid. They would look to her for help, and she would be the one to decide who would get their resources, and who would need to fend for themselves.

They discussed, and decided to spare two men to help fix the village. The young girl bowed and gave her thanks, though Sansa could see in her eyes that she wished she had more. Who could blame her? Sansa would be livid if she lost her entire home, and was given nothing more than two men to help repair buildings.

Truth being, they had little food to spare. Feeding an entire army during the winter was harsh. Her father was right, again, and she berated herself for not paying close enough attention to when he taught Robb how to be a leader.

After the young girl, they faced a dozen men asking for the same things. Please give us shelter, please give us a place to stay, the winter is harsh. Sansa grit her teeth as she had to deny them most of what they asked for. These were her people, and it hurt to leave them practically defenseless.

They spared all they could, and after a long day she finally let out a sigh when no more people came to speak. It was monotonous, and she found herself wishing for company. Bran was not the same, he couldn’t speak to her, genuinely, like others could. There were her handmaids, the castle servants, her trusted generals for the army. But they weren’t Arya. They weren’t Theon, or even _Jon_ would be more fun to talk to.

If she was lucky, maybe the dragon queen would send her Margaery.

 

###  **Jaime**

A single knock on his door.

“Come in,” Jaime called. They let him stay in a comfortable room, overlooking a pleasant area of the city.

He finished taking off the golden hand, and rubbed the sore spot where his real hand used to be. After wearing that damned hand all day, it hurt when he removed it at night. He had never gotten used to it. The metal rubbed his flesh raw, but it was better than letting the world see his greatest shame.

The door opened and Lady, or rather, _Ser_ , Brienne walked in. Without her armor, she looked more vulnerable. He himself probably looked much the same in his current state.

She wore a simple, southern made, tunic. Same as him. The northern style of clothing was much too hot for this weather, despite the wintertime.

“I hope you are doing well, Ser.” Ever so polite, he knew she was pitying him. He missed their banter. Even more so, he missed his old life. “Your brother sent me to-”

“To check on me. To make sure I haven’t flung myself out the nearest window.” He interrupted. He didn’t feel bad about it. “Don’t worry, I’m still here. Ready to become the dragon queen’s prisoner.”

Her face fell, lips turned down. All at once he wished the words had never left his mouth. There was a scar on the underside of her chin, one he knew wasn’t there when they had first met. The battle of Winterfell took its toll on them all. He looked back out the window, couldn’t bare to look at her face.

Brienne wordlessly took a chair and brought it next to his. His wine cup was empty, for the third time that day.

He could feel her stare piercing into him, it hurt more than a knife piercing his flesh. So he poured another cup full of wine and took a long drink. Before he could finish, Brienne took the cup from his grasp and set it on the table heavily.

“That’s enough.” She said. There was something in her voice he felt he needed. “I’m not here to watch you drink yourself to death.”

He opened his mouth to talk back, but was cut off. Somehow it was less fun when it was himself being talked back to. “I’m not here to watch you die in any sort of way. And you’re not a prisoner. This is your home, you fought for it the same as everyone else.”

“Well, alright then.” Jaime shifted in his seat awkwardly, rubbing the stump on his arm and wishing he was anywhere else. This woman had a way of knowing what he was going to say before he even knew himself.

“Good. So.” She started. Still looking at his face, he hoped she didn’t notice the red creeping up his neck at her attention. “Your brother instructed me to bring you to the small council negotiations.”

“Why would I be allowed to do that?” It was true, he had helped them in the north, and he had helped them in the south. He was there when the city was taken by the new queen. But he was no grand adviser, not now, nor ever.

“The queen, she intends for you to be the Lord of Casterly Rock.” She told him. Her hand was awfully close to his own. As she leaned forward in her seat, he moved back imperceptibly.

“Nonsense, I gave up my claim before, I can’t just take it back.”

“Look, I don’t know why, or what they were thinking. About any of this, really.” Brienne shook her head. “But I do know...that you’re a good man. You deserve a true home again.”

The man who had slept with no other except his sister, who fathered children with her that he could not raise, he hardly thought he deserved a home after all that. It tore him apart inside, like the world was no longer his, and his body was someone else's.

He stood abruptly, staggering a bit towards the balcony. Fresh air, just outside. It would clear his head.

Casterly Rock, and Lannisport, was better than King’s Landing. It was clean, the flowers bloomed near the streets, and the people were genuine despite the tyranny of his father. They are good people, and would accept him with open arms.

“Ser-” She was cut off once more.

“I’ll go.” He told her. “I’ll accept Casterly Rock.”

She was taken aback, and she was _very_ close behind him even as he stood on the balcony. Yet again, it seemed the knight couldn’t be any more than a few feet away from him at a time.

“Alright then, good. You should be happy there. You can start a family.” Despite close in proximity, Brienne seemed distant all of a sudden. “I will let your brother know at once.”

“Wait-” He started, nearly reaching out and grabbing her arm as she turned to leave. “I want you to come with me. To Casterly Rock.”

Brienne stopped in her tracks, and looked back over at him. That damned red crept up his neck again. Probably had too much wine that morning, he thought, and cleared his throat.

“I only mean- I’m not a fighter, not like I was before. It would be good to have a trustworthy knight by my side.”

He openly watched her face, and stared hard but he just _couldn’t_ pin down her thoughts.

“Or not, perhaps I’ll extend an invite to Ser Bronn instead?” He joked, suddenly the air around them was a bit too hot despite the winter breeze outside.

“No.” Her voice was firm. Jaime wondered if the rest of her was as firm as it looked. “I’d be honored to serve you, Ser.”

“You won’t be serving me, _Ser_ ,” He corrected. “And you can call me Jaime, we’re-”

He stopped. What were they? Friends, fellow soldiers, fellow knights, more than that, and less all at once. “Well. You can call me Jaime.” He finished.

Her voice sounded sweet as she called him _Jaime_. And as she walked out the door, he remembered for the first time in days, if only for a moment, he hadn’t been thinking of Cersei.


	3. Arya, Yara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arya takes her fate into her own hands, and Yara thinks of a new plan.

###  **Arya**

‘My Lady’ they called her. Everyone called her that now. It was her duty, to perform as the Lady of Winterfell in her sister’s stead. Of all the faces she had worn, this was by far her least favorite at the moment. Though it was her own, she had never felt so out of place. She was no lady, and never would be.

She sat near the end of the table, across from her brother, Jon. A few days had passed since the battle for the crown, and Queen Daenerys had called for their first council meeting of the new rulership. She sat at the front end, with her hand Tyrion at her right side, and Lord Varys to her left.

Lady Margaery joined them as well, her face had regained some of its rosy color since the days after her rescue. She seemed around Sansa’s age, although Arya didn’t care enough to ask. She figured Margaery would be the matriarch of House Tyrell now, since her grandmother was killed in the war.

None of the people around her were really that interesting to her.

If she had to choose, she would have picked Yara Greyjoy to spend time with. A stark contrast from her brother Theon, the lady pirate was sure of herself and every decision she made. A true leader of her people.

“I am glad to see you are well, brother.” Tyrion spoke.

Ser Jaime entered the room, with Ser Brienne following behind. After a nod and slight bow to her queen and the rest, she exited the room and closed the door back behind them.

He pulled up a chair between Arya and Tyrion. “I hope I’m not late, Your Grace.”

“Not at all.” Daenerys said. A short wine glass was held in her hand, though Arya never saw her move it to her lips. “Shall we begin?”

Jon started first. He brought up the northern troubles, and the issue of the Wall being down. After it was torn down, and the Night’s Watch all but exterminated, the northern villages had nothing to protect themselves from the winter. It would take many men to help rebuild what they had lost.

The queen set down her wine glass after he finished. “Very well. Would you help rebuild then?”

“Myself, Your Grace? I’m no builder.” His brows furrowed. Though he was confused at the idea, there was no anger in his voice.

“Not alone, of course.” Dany replied. “But you would lead the effort. We can rally the good northern builders, provide them with food and shelter at the Wall until it’s rebuilt.”

“I mean no harm, but there is no way a group of _builders_ can fix the wall to what it once was.” Jon said. “It’s too high.”

“Of course,” Tyrion interjected. “Nevertheless, _something_ is better than nothing. Even if the wildlings won’t attack us anymore.”

“Free folk, Lord Tyrion.” Arya broke her silence.

“My apologies.” He corrected himself. “Even better, would the free folk help you with this endeavor?”

He thought for a moment. “I doubt it, I don’t see why they would assist with blocking themselves off the rest of the world again.”

It made sense. Relations were strong, better than they ever had been between the seven kingdoms and the true north, but not enough for them to actively participate in fixing the Wall.

“No, I don’t imagine so.” Tyrion pondered, scratching his beard.

“What of the Night’s Watch?” The queen said. “How many men are left?”

“You’re looking at him,” Jon replied. “and there are less than a dozen others left. We would need to round them up to regroup.”

Daenerys shook her head, and turned to the others for input.

“Perhaps we should start anew.” Varys said. “There are many men in the city here that were loyal to the false queen, we could give them a chance to start fresh. I’m sure your sister Sansa could find others as well.”

“Aye, and I can toss in a few men.” Yara interjected as well. “We can station them at Eastwatch, to be by the sea.”

The group discussed further and it was decided, Jon would ride north to the Wall to lead the rebuilding effort. With him, he would take a handful of men from King’s Landing, as well as a few from the Greyjoy’s fleet. A quick stop would be made at Winterfell, to collect any others who wanted to volunteer.

He would also escort Margaery Tyrell, who requested to visit Winterfell and her friend Sansa. They would send a raven, to let her know what would be happening. It would be good for her sister to take a break, Arya thought, and to take that stick out of her ass for once and relax.

The next order of business was dealing with Highgarden. There was still a fruitless effort to keep the castle, from the Lannister’s holding up there. It would be easy to wipe them out and retake the stronghold. Jaime volunteered to head to Highgarden to negotiate with the men he used to command. If they were loyal to him, he would lead them back to Lannisport where he would be Lord of Casterly Rock. If not, they were well equipped to snuff out the rebellion.

“I’ll take a small group of men with me first, just in case.” Jaime continued. “And I’ll have Ser Brienne as well, she could be useful for negotiations.”

His brother took a sip of his wine at that statement, trying and failing to hide his slight grin.

Assuming that everything went as planned, Ser Loras Tyrell would become the new Lord of Highgarden. For now, he would stay in the city and act as a temporary queen’s guard. Queen Daenerys was still building her guard of loyal knights, and in the meantime needed plenty of men to help keep her safe.

“My brother will go, too.” Yara said.

“To...Highgarden?” Margaery asked.

The Greyjoy children looked at each other. Theon was a broken man, he would not fare well returning to the Iron Islands, and would not be comfortable at Winterfell knowing that he left his blood family for his northern brothers.

Yara only wanted what was best for her kin. Leaving everything behind and staying in a safe castle, full of safe and kind people, was an optimal solution. She explained her reasoning to the others, and Theon nodded his agreement.

Arya hoped he found his happiness. Despite everything, she grew up with that man, and didn’t want him to suffer any longer.

They discussed further, and she found herself thinking that the day was starting to drag on too long. Arya watched through the windows as the sun was beginning to set in the distance. It made her shift in her seat, itching to get outside and patrol the streets.

Jolting her out of her thoughts, Queen Daenerys offered Arya a place in her queen’s guard.

"After everything you have done, there is no one I would trust more to guard by my side.” She explained further. “You would be knighted, of course. But the golden armor is purely optional.”

A queen’s guard? A _knight?_ Arya felt eight years old again. Practicing archery. Fighting with sticks outside Winterfell. The dream of being a knight, and the heavy feeling in her gut knowing that it would never be a reality.

Now, the option set out before her, she dreamed of adventure. There was all of Westeros, Essos, and the rest of the world. She had never visited the true north. Never been to Dorne. Never been to the cities across the sea where her queen came from.

“Your Grace,” She started. It felt like someone else was using her body to talk. “I am honored by the offer.”

“You are honored, but you don’t look happy.” The queen replied.

“No, I am. Very happy.” She said. “But...I can’t accept. Not at this time.”

Daenerys nodded once.

“There is so much of the world I have yet to see, so many people and things out there to experience. Before you came, I had never seen a dragon.”

This was the most she had ever said to the queen. Hell, the most she had said to the majority of the people around her now. Jon smiled as she spoke, and she knew he was right there with her.

“I need to get out there. And…live.” She finished. Too much of her life had been spent surviving. It was time for her to experience the world as it truly was.

The air was palpable as everyone listened to her speak. All the people around her were highborn, as she was. But none of them knew what it was like to dream of a different life, then have it presented before you. It was if she was given a golden platter full of delicious food, only to send it back to the cook without taking so much as a single bite.

“I understand.” Daenerys said. There was a softness in her eyes. “I see much of myself in you.”

Arya let out the breath she was holding, and let go of the hilt of needle by her side that she had been clutching onto. Everyone had thought of her as a little girl before, now they saw her as the warrior she was.

A part of her missed how it was in the past. She had been forced to grow up quickly, out in the world alone. She was a killer. Ruthless, and methodical. Who is to say that the young Arya Stark was gone for good? If possible, she wanted to try and find her again.

They wished her all well, in whatever she decided to do. Slayer of the Night King, the Queen killer, a faceless girl with no name. None of that mattered now. She was Arya Stark of Winterfell. And her adventure was only beginning.

 

###  **Yara**

“Next.” She said with a wave of her hand, and moved to pluck another grape into her mouth. “Got any blondes?”

The man in front of her looked like he wanted to wrap his pudgy hands around her neck. And not in the fun way, she thought with a laugh. It was hard to not play up the part of ‘dirty pirate’ when men like this were in charge of the brothels in King’s Landing.

“Of course, Lady Greyjoy.”

The three giggly girls she rejected left the room with a snap of the man’s fingers. He left for a few minutes and quickly returned with a couple different girls, who had yellow hair as requested.

One of them was around her age, and the other was a few years older. The younger one blushed, and gave a flirty laugh behind her hand when she saw who they would be serving. Her hair was fair, a bit lighter than the hair on the older one.

The second woman’s hair was twisted into a long braid, decorated with a few small flowers. No doubt, this lady was meant to satisfy the local soldiers urge for a certain highborn Lannister lady. _May she rest in peace_ , Yara thought, _but I would love a piece of that._

“Hmm, not quite light enough.” She pulled the younger woman in closer and spun her around to get a good look. They were both wearing thin dresses over their undergarments. If this was the Iron Islands, they wouldn’t be wearing much of anything at all. “I’m thinking...white hair. Platinum, if you will.”

Though the lines of his mouth stayed in a tight smile, she watched as his eye twitched.

Teasing him was too fun. Yara didn’t know if the man felt loyalty more towards the previous queen or the new one, but regardless it was entertaining to make him squirm. Surely he would piece together that she was searching for a girl much like their current queen.

“I’m afraid these are our only blondes, my lady.”

“Very well.” She stood up, and pulled herself away from the beautiful women who had been teasing her neck and gently pulling at her shirt. “Guess I’ll check out a different place, then.”

The brothel owner sputtered over his words. Yara didn’t look back at him, but she tossed a couple coins at the blonde women as she left.

“For your time.” She winked, and sauntered back out to the streets of the city.

There were a ton of brothels in the crownlands. Even more so than the Iron Islands. With the amount of people who lived here, it was no surprise. Despite having enough free time that day to visit a good handful of the establishments, she had yet to find a girl with her requirements.

Their new queen was as fiery as her dragons, and more powerful than anyone Yara had ever met. It wasn’t that she was in love with her, but she was never one to back down from a challenge.

Ever since she sailed across the sea and escorted Daenerys with her army back to Westeros, Yara knew there was _something_ about her that she couldn’t resist. They had embraced arms, and with it she had pledged her life to the dragon queen.

To avoid the crowd of people that populated the streets, she quickly ducked into an alleyway. In the distance, she had spotted Tyrion Lannister. As hand of the queen, the little man had a way of pushing and prodding Yara to try to be more of a ‘leader.’

They had only known each other for a little while, and only a few days had passed since she helped them take the city. In that time, Lord Tyrion had corned her on four separate occasions trying to discuss the future of the Iron Islands, and their relations to the queen.

“We will stay loyal to the queen.” She had told him, again and again.

“Indeed, that is good, but are your people loyal to _you_?”

It was a difficult question. Before Euron, she was certain that all her men would follow her into battle without a second guess. After her uncle won the king’s moot, things were different. Yes, she had killed her usurper uncle. Yes, she commanded the majority of the iron fleet. But was that enough to win them all over?

She ducked down another alleyway that was split off from the previous. Tyrion seemed to still be following her, with a few knights nearby to keep him safe. Yara didn’t want to have to deal with them, she would rather be out on the sea, or in bed with a beautiful woman.

Then a thought crossed her mind, and a brought her to a sudden stop.

A beautiful woman, like the dragon queen. The dragon queen, who happened to be unmarried. She wanted the Iron Islands to respect her, what better way than to marry the queen of the seven kingdoms.

It shouldn’t be difficult, Yara could think of no other suitors that were worth a damn. The most likely competitor would be Jon Snow, but the man was getting ready to head north to wall. As far as she knew, her queen had no man to share her company.

She couldn't have children, it was no secret. The dragons were her children, the only ones she would ever have. Which means it was entirely possible that the queen didn't need a man at all. 

Tyrion and his followers caught up with her. After deciding on her new plan, Yara leaned up against one of the nearby buildings and waited for them to spot her.

“Ah, there you are.” Tyrion started speaking, a bit out of breath from practically chasing her down.

“You were wrong about that brothel, by the way.” She pointed down in the direction she came from. “They don’t have what everyone is looking for.”

Tyrion shook his head. He looked rather sad, which was surprising. She thought the little man _loved_ brothels. At least, that’s what his reputation implied. He had told her of a few good ones when she had asked for recommendations. 

“No matter. I’m sure a woman like you doesn’t need any help getting what she wants.”

“Aye,” She replied. If only he knew. “But I may need your help now.”

He raised an eyebrow, and looked around to see if she was directing her words at someone else. “...me?”

“Yes, you’re important. Specifically, you’re important to Daenerys. I want to fuck the queen.”

The knights with Tyrion looked at each other, debating if they should step in and cut down the woman trying to disrespect their queen. Tyrion raised a hand to calm them. “That’s hardly professional. I don’t-”

“Marriage. Think about it, I know you’re a smart man. The queen of the Iron Islands, and the queen of the seven kingdoms. If that doesn’t get the Ironborn on her side, nothing will.”

There was an awkward pause as he mulled it over. With a sigh, he pinched the bridge of his misshapen nose with his fingers.

“So…” She let him have his moment of silence, now it was time to get him behind her idea. “Are you in?”

“I’m not saying I’m _in,_ ” He said. “But, if there is no one else, and I mean _no one_ else…”

A grin spread on her face. He didn’t want to admit it, but she knew he liked her. Even after the small council meeting earlier that week, where Yara acted a bit too flirty towards Dany, she could tell he was amused by her antics. It was easy to get the queen to blush, just a few innuendos scattered in their conversation was all it took. Red was definitely her color.

The queen needed someone to challenge her. They always said, powerful people attracted powerful crowds.

“I’ll see what I can do.” He finished.

“Right then, thank you. Let me know what the queen says.” She clapped him on the back after he agreed, and started walking away. “Now, I’ve got a few more places to visit in the city.”

Tyrion stood still. He watched as Yara walked away, puzzled at why he just agreed to help her marry the queen.

“Women,” He sighed and looked back at his companions. “Am I right?”

The knights with him exchanged another glance, but they didn’t laugh.

“Well, I suppose I better get started on fixing the mess that is our queen's love life.” Somehow, Tyrion knew he had his work cut out for him. 

Maybe he would get lucky, and Daenerys would be on board with shacking up with the leader of the Iron Islands. If she did, that would mean they would need to find a suitable heir to the throne. His head started pounding, why did everything have to be so complicated?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sigh....those new GoT leaks sound pretty bad. Oh well. 
> 
> Finished this chapter right on time for the new episode tonight.


	4. Theon, Jaime, Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhh that episode last night was worse than I imagined it would be :( 
> 
> Some Theon, Jaime, and Sansa in this chapter.

###  **Theon**

In his youth, he lived in the shadow of Robb Stark. The man was his brother, from the moment they first met. He wished he could undo the things he had done, and would have given anything to be by his side once more. To bring him back. But it was in the past, and the wars were behind them all. Robb had to be left in the past too, but he would never forget his brother.

Now, Theon found himself in the presence of Loras Tyrell. The knight of flowers, with his curly hair and chiseled jawline. They sat together in the courtyard outside the keep. Both of their sisters were important people now, and they couldn’t figure out what to do with themselves in their absence.

His sister Margaery would be going to Winterfell, and Theon’s own sister would stay in King’s Landing with the queen. That much they already knew. It shamed himself, thinking that his whereabouts needed to be decided. A man with no home, both Greyjoy and Stark. They had all but given him to Loras, to be looked after.

“So, what is Theon Greyjoy doing on the Targaryen side of the war?” Loras spoke up. The man didn’t look at him, instead starred off in the distance towards the sea. They couldn’t see it from where they were sitting, but if they listened closely they could almost hear the crashing waves on the shore.

“Helping my family.” He replied. The war is over, he wanted to say. They were both free, so they should start acting more like it.

“I head that your uncle Euron killed his brother and was going to marry the queen. Is he not family to you?” Loras asked.

Theon gripped the bench with his hands.

“Yara is my sister, and we follow the dragon queen.” Theon said, releasing a breath.

“Oh, I see.” He paused for a moment. “I apologize if that sounded aggressive. It’s been awhile since I’ve been outside my jail cell.”

Nobody ever apologized to Theon. Maybe he had Loras pinned down wrong. There could still be good and just knights out there.

“I understand,” He replied. “I’ve done a lot of bad things in my life. I want to be a better man now.”

The knight looked over at him. His hair seemed to glow in the sunlight, a blonde color that was too beautiful for any man to have. A soft smile was etched on his face. There were still cuts and bruises on his skin, from his time as a prisoner. Yet, the horrible marking that scarred his forehead was covered by his bangs.

“I think you’ll like Highgarden.” Loras said. His voice was stronger now, like he was getting comfortable with Theon’s presence. “Beautiful place, and I’m not just saying that because I grew up there. There’s something about it that’s...healing.”

“I pray that Ser Jaime is able to secure the castle without casualties.” Theon told him. It could be a tricky situation, talking about the homeland of Loras being under the control of a different house.

“Aye, he’s a talented knight.” There was a hint of bitterness in his voice. “There should be no problem. And once I return there, it will be restored to its true greatness.”

Theon was looking forward to visiting. Although he wasn’t sure what else life had in store for him, the worst had to be behind him now.

He knew could never love a woman again. Not after everything that had happened. There wasn’t a way for him to, something had changed in his brain. Only Sansa truly knew what he went through, and he figured that she would never be able to love a man either.

But it was possible he could learn to love himself again.

###  **Jaime**

The war was over, but there were still battles to be fought. If the gods were to favor him, there wouldn’t be any bloodshed in Highgarden. It felt strange, knowing he was going back over to the castle he had once overtaken. Those were his men there, ones that he led himself. Now, he followed the dragon queen’s commands.

He was tired, and getting old. This would be his last night in King’s Landing, at least for a while. Many of his best years were spent here, being part of the king’s guard, being a general, being a father.

He mourned for his unborn child, killed with its mother. Nobody else could know of it. Least of all the only remaining member of his family.

“Drink up, brother.” Tyrion poured him another glass of wine, always wine. “I image it will be a long while till you have the pleasure of being next to me.”

His brother drank deeply, not caring if some of the wine spilled down the corner of his mouth and onto his tunic.

Jaime followed his motions, and sipped from his own cup.

Night was falling on the city. The sun had slowly lowered down the horizon, and the moon was blanketing the building tops with a soft blue glow.

“Ahh,” His brother finished, and forcefully set his cup on the table. “We’re getting old, aren’t we?”

“Indeed, though I have more years than you.”

“Mm.” Tyrion was suddenly quiet, and a bit somber. “I don’t intend to have children. I don’t imagine I could raise a family, either.”

“What brought this on?” Jaime asked. His brother was not one to be so morbid. After everything that he did, to his family and to others, perhaps they were both different than their childhood selves.

“Our legacy, as father would have said. We’re the last Lannisters.” He replied. “I know things are hard for you, from Cersei. But, please, consider moving on. For the good of the family.”

“For the good of the family…” Jaime took another drink to stop his mind from wandering. “I had a family. I had children. Now they’re all dead. How am I supposed to _move on_ from that?”

Tyrion winced, and stood from his chair. “I don’t imagine it will be easy.”

“No, I don’t imagine it will.” His words were sharp.

There was a brief pause before he continued, “I understand that you’re taking Lady Brienne with you.”

“ _Ser_ Brienne. And don’t even bring her into this.” Jaime stood from his chair as well, growing flustered.

Tyrion raised his hands defensively. “I’m not saying anything.”

Despite everything, they were brothers. It was too easy to ignore the hardships and fall back into humor.

“Good.” He said, with heavy emphasis to end the conversation.

They went over to the balcony, the same place he was with Brienne a few days before. He wondered if she was doing well in the castle, if she was already sleeping, or if she would stay up looking out at the same glittering skyline. It felt like miles were between the two of them.

“I guess blonde is your type.” Tyrion said.

He quickly smacked his brother on the back of the head, lightly but with with feeling.

“I deserve that,” They were both laughing now, it felt good. “But you didn’t disagree.”

“I have no comment on the matter.”

“Of course,” He continued. “Perhaps you would get along well with Yara Greyjoy. I hear she’s also a fan of blondes, and queens.”

“Queens?” Jaime asked. This was news to him, he only recently learned that the woman wasn’t even interested in men.

“Yes, my recent dilema.” Tyrion explained. “It seems she’s interested in courting our new beloved queen.”

It sounded to him like a huge risk. It was hard enough to join two prominent houses, let alone two that were so different as Targaryen and Greyjoy.

“Thank the gods I’m going to Casterly Rock, then.” He said.

His brother shook his head with another laugh. “The worst part is, I’m inclined to help her.”

“Really? And here I thought that it was _you_ who was in love with our queen.” He had only been with Cersei, but Jaime was no stranger to longing and love. Each time he saw his brother around their queen, he recognized that wistful look in his eyes.

“Wha- me?” He sputtered. “Nonsense. I’m just an old man, here to serve the realm with my great intellect.”

“Right. The realm.” Jaime said. “And not the beautiful, young woman leading it.”

He received a very angry glare from his little brother.

They joked around for a while longer, until the sun had fully set and the nighttime embraced King’s Landing. Soon they both felt the pull of sleep, and Jaime struggled to keep his eyes open. He bid his brother good night, and closed the door behind him after he left.

There was much to do in the coming days and weeks. He prayed that after Highgarden, there would be very few battles left to win. Who would have thought, the once great and powerful lion would wish for nothing more than a gentle life. If only he could share it with the woman he once loved.

His dreams for the past few nights had been terrible. In some, huge waves crashed over the shores of the city, and swallowed them all in darkness. In others, dragonfire burned every building to the ground and he watched, paralyzed, as the last of his friends and family fell and the castle collapsed on him.

Now he wondered what great torture the gods were going to send him this night. He took off his shirt, with some struggle as always, and removed his pants before crawling under the sheets of his bed. Each day they washed and remade the covers on his bed, and the silky feel against his skin was quick to drag him into the world of sleep.

He wished his dreams would bring him as much comfort as the sheets.

###  **Sansa**

For the second time that day, Sansa Stark found herself thinking of Margaery. The news was that she was nearly to Winterfell, being escorted by Jon. They had made preparations for her arrival. Flowers and feasts, things that were very unlike the typical north. It was good to have excitement back in her life, in a positive way.

Her heart would flutter when she imagined being reunited. It had been so long since she remembered a feeling like this one. The last time had probably been when King Robert and Prince Joffrey visited Winterfell. Hopefully, things would turn out better this time.

With a steady plan in place for rebuilding the north and the wall, Sansa could finally take a moment to breathe. The raven she received was a god-send. Although she enjoyed being a leader, it was a nice change of pace to have important decisions made by someone other than herself.

The dragon queen was still an outsider, but one that Sansa felt she could warm up to. Her hair was as white as snow, opposed to Sansa’s hair that was like fire. It was laughable how well they mirrored each other.  

She knew of Jon’s feelings, and it hurt to see him sent away to the wall. Love never turned out well in their family, it seemed, and she found herself remembering a fond memory from years before.

_“Lady Sansa, it’s good to see you.” Margaery said. She was wearing a pale blue dress, fitting for a future queen._

_“You as well, my lady.” Sansa replied. Her tongue seemed heavy in her mouth, and she worried she would embarrass herself._

_The two of them frequently walked around the courtyard of the castle, in between Margaery’s duties as Joffrey’s betrothed. Today, her friend met her outside of her room and had offered her an arm to hold onto as they walked._

_“You look beautiful today, if you don’t mind me saying.” She told Sansa._

_“Thank you, and I like your dress.” Sansa had responded. There were very few people in King’s Landing who complimented Sansa as of late._

_“Oh, it’s a favorite of my dear Joffrey.” She explained. “Although, I wore it today because it would match your eyes.”_

_Margaery placed her hand on top of Sansa’s own that was holding her arm, and looked into her eyes. Her fingers were delicate, and longer than Sansa’s. They were similar in age, but Sansa was constantly impressed with how mature the other girl was._

_“My eyes?” She fought to keep the red from creeping up her neck. It made her look ugly and clashed with her hair, she thought._

_“Yes, Sansa,” Margaery held her gaze, unreadable but friendly. “I love your eyes. They remind me of the sea, or of the sky. Everything good with this world.”_

_Sansa swallowed hard, and pretended not to notice as her heart beat loudly in her ears._

_“I-I’m flattered, truly.” She struggled to say._

_Her friend continued to smile up at her, before turning away and continuing to walk down the path. Dozens of flowers were in bloom, and they decorated the walkway of the courtyard. There were not many people out and about this time of day, let alone in the private area of the castle. So when Margaery leaned down and plucked a rose from a bush, Sansa didn’t feel fear like she usually did._

_“For you, a red rose for a wolf with red hair.” Margaery handed it to her. “May we both have the best of luck in love.”_

_She accepted the rose with a smile, and for a moment she forgot she was a captive._

There was a knock on her door, pulling her from her reminiscence of the past.

“Come in.” She called.

The guest entered, the same young boy that had been escorting her to the great hall each day.

He came to deliver another raven scroll, the second of the morning. This one was from Lady Brienne, her trusted protector.

With a polite smile, she thanked the boy for his help and sent him on his way. As she read through the scroll, Sansa wasn’t sure how to feel. Ser Jaime had invited Brienne to stay with him at Casterly Rock, where he would be Lord over Lannisport on behalf of his family and lineage. That much she already knew, but to hear it from Brienne herself that she would not be returning to Winterfell was a bit of a surprise.

No matter, she thought, it’s good for Brienne to find her happiness.

More than anything, Sansa wished she could find hers.


	5. Yara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Yara discusses her idea with the queen.

###  **Yara**

Earlier that day, Missandei of Naath had made her debut in King’s Landing. Dragonstone had needed a trustworthy woman to watch over it while the queen liberated the capital. What better person than Daenerys’ own right-hand woman.

A loving moment was shared between her and Grey Worm, the new commander of war. The two of them had embraced, like the rest of the queen’s entourage weren’t even there. Yara had to look away, before her eyes caught on fire, and found that the queen herself was looking in her direction.

Daenerys sat on the throne, a true picture of a queen, as her advisers stood in their positions by her side. The fire that raged behind her eyes was somewhat calm compared to how it had been during the war. She welcomed her companion to her city, and offered her a position on her small council as the master of laws.

The gods may have flipped a coin when Dany was born, but even if it landed on one face, it doesn’t mean the other side ceases to exist. There are always two sides to every coin, and two sides to every story.

The woman of the hour shared a look with Grey Worm, who nodded and spoke up on her behalf. “My queen. I wish to take Missandei with me to Dragonstone.”

The queen didn’t seem surprised, although Yara herself was. Her arms were crossed over her chest as she watched the events unfold before them, and wished she could take a seat somewhere. The arms of her queen lay delicately against the iron throne. Even if the throne looked uncomfortable, surely it would be better than standing.

Earlier that day, Dany voiced her plan to give Dragonstone to Grey Worm, as a reward for his many years of service, and as a stronghold he could keep as the commander of war. If it hadn’t been for his dutiful assistance and devoted following, their queen could very well still be across the narrow sea.

The request was not too far fetched, but Yara couldn’t understand why someone would give up an offer of being near the queen during their daily life. It had to be because of love, and she supposed the two of them made a well enough couple. He was the only Unsullied she’d ever seen that had any sort of emotion. And Missandei was attractive, anyone with eyes could see that.

“Very well.” The queen addressed them. There was a small smile on her lips, but aside from that she was calm and composed. “You are both permitted to lord over Dragonstone, from this day until your last. Should any conflicts arise, I trust that you both with return to my side.”

The two of them shared another quick look, happy and young and in love. They embraced hands and gave their thanks to their queen. Her chin lifted, Yara looked across Daenerys and found Tyrion gazing back at her.

She gave him a wink and then quite obviously resumed staring at Daenerys. The man shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. As of late, he seemed to do that frequently in her company.

A few others entered the throne room afterwards, and brought their concerns to the small council. They gave their advice to the queen, who then gave her commands to the people. It was a methodical process, and although they were newly in-charge of the seven kingdoms, their group of people had experience working together efficiently.

Before too long, it was only the council left in the room. Everyone had been dealt with for the day, and all major issues were resolved. Yara helped the queen to her feet, offering an arm for her to hold onto as they walked back to the council meeting room. Her fingers were gentle and light as they touched her.

The two of them fell into a comfortable silence, broken only by Tyrion and Varys, who always seemed to be _talking_. Yara opened the door and pulled out the head chair for Daenerys. She gave a polite nod with a small smile and took a seat.

She had been here a good handful of times before, but was still not used to the awful screeching noise the chairs made as the people situated themselves around the table.

They were still missing a few people to fill the empty positions for the council. As such, Lord Tyrion was acting as both Hand of the Queen and master of coin, until they found a replacement for the latter.

Lord Varys had kept his position as master of whisperers, and had been working to find a suitable match to be Grand Maester. It was a decision to remove the Lord Commander of the Queensguard from the seat on the small council. War and violence should not have such a prominent place in politics.

Of course, as the proclaimed queen of the Iron Islands, Yara herself was the master of ships. While they looked for a better fit, she was also assisting with the role of master of laws.

“So, first order of business.” Tyrion started. As hand of the queen, it was his duty to bring forward any issues and ensure they were discussed. “Highgarden is back in our favor, ready for Ser Loras to lord over once more. For the north, Jon and Lady Margaery are expected to arrive in Winterfell within the week.”

“All good news, thank you.” Daenerys said. “What concerns do you have for me today?”

Yara spoke up, before Tyrion could open his mouth. “I have a proposal.”

“Very well, you are permitted to tell us of your ideas.” It seemed as if she wasn’t expecting her to speak so soon in the evening. Usually, Yara kept her input to a minimum, preferring to hear the full story before interjecting.

“Not an idea, my queen. A _proposal._ I would ask for your hand in marriage.” She replied.

Though she had been with many women, and broken twice as many hearts, she found her heart beating wildly in her chest. While it was strange, it was not entirely unwelcome. She rubbed her palms on the coarse fabric of her pants, to rid them of the clammy feeling her words brought.

Daenerys looked stunned at her confession. Though she was not speaking, the way her lips parted was almost unnoticeable.

“Ah, forgive me, Your Grace.” Tyrion interrupted. “I intended to bring this up with you outside of the council room.”

Yara knew she needed him on her side, but at that moment all she wanted was to keep staring at the queen’s beautiful lips, watching as she gently bit the bottom one in concentration. If there hadn’t been two other people in the room with them, Yara might have called her enticing.

“No, it’s fine, Lord Tyrion.” Daenerys said with a raise of her hand. “I’m sure you’re all aware that I haven’t received many suitors since arriving in Westeros. I expect that to change with the news that I am unmarried.”

“Of course, and with a face like yours we’ll need to start closing the gates to the city, lest we be overrun with all the Lords in the realm.” Yara responded, lowering her voice to let them know she was only slightly kidding.

She had seen the queen blush before, and had _made_ her blush before, but nothing compared to the unguarded look that was upon her face now.

“There are many reasons why it would be a bad idea.” Varys spoke up. “For one, you are both women.”

“Hasn’t stopped me before.” Yara was quick to reply.

“No, I don’t imagine so.” Daenerys said with a light laugh. “Yet because I am the rightful queen of the seven kingdoms, it is important for me to produce an heir. But, my dragons are my children, and they are the only ones I will ever have.”

“Fine by me, never liked kids anyway. Too fussy.”

Tyrion was back to rubbing the bridge of his nose, with Varys struggling to hide a laugh behind his sleeve.

“You’re a funny woman, Yara Greyjoy.” Daenerys said. She raised her voice, and the fire flickered to life behind her eyes. It made the atmosphere in the room shift to be more serious, as it always did when Daenerys commanded her people. “I accept your offer.”

“I-wait...you accept?” Tyrion looked ready to change her mind, before hearing that the queen was actually convinced to go along with Yara’s proposal.

In a very informal gesture, Daenerys shrugged her shoulders. “I have loved very few men in my life. And though I did love them, they brought me nothing but pain and grief. Perhaps I don’t need a King. Perhaps another Queen will do the realm good.”

“So, we will join our Houses.” Yara leaned forward, focusing only on Daenerys and her desire to be with her.  “Our reign will last a hundred years, and our heir will be the strongest ruler the land has ever seen.”

Maybe it was lust for power, or lust for the gorgeous face of the queen, but Yara had never felt more ensnared by a single woman.

And with that, Yara knew her fate was sealed. It would be easy for her to love the queen as a leader, and as a merciful and just ruler. From that, she would learn to love her as a woman, fiercely and forever, like no man had done before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took a few days break from writing while I tried to come to terms with the ending of the show. I saw the leaks like 4 weeks ago but it still sucked to see :/ aside from the obviously terrible thing that happened, I (surprisingly) wasn't too mad at the finale.


	6. Arya, Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Arya thinks back to an important moment in Winterfell, and Sansa makes new memories in Winterfell.

###  **Arya**

The road to Storm’s End was easy on her and her new horse. It wouldn’t take nearly as long than if she had gone back north to Winterfell. She had been riding for only a little while, taking her time and stopping to rest at a few scattered taverns along the King’s Road. 

Now that she was a free woman, truly free to do as she wished with no other names on her list, she decided to visit the castle of the Baratheon’s. It was only a quick stop, she was telling herself, just to see him once and be off on another adventure. The gods weren’t done with her yet. 

After surviving the battle of Winterfell, Gendry had become Lord of Storm’s End. They had all celebrated and cheered his name, drinking in his honor, and Arya missed it all. 

He was no longer the bastard of King Robert, instead he was thrust into the world of politics and leadership. Despite the circumstances, Arya had faith that he would be a good ruler, and a good man. 

The celebrations had gone on for many hours, wine and ale passed around to everyone alive, even some of the children. Crowds made her uncomfortable. Festivities made her itch. Drinking men and women made her head pound. So she had walked out, quietly, to relish in the comfort of the brisk night air. 

That was where Gendry had found her, a large and genuine smile stretched on his face, making him seem younger. It reminded her of when they had first travelled together. Years ago, it felt like decades had passed since then. They were both changed people. Or perhaps Gendry hadn’t changed at all. 

He had asked her what she was doing out in the cold, messing around with her bow and arrows when she could have been inside with her family and celebrating. It was all thanks to her after all, the hero of the living, the slayer of the dead. 

The steel in her hands was colder than the hand that had wrapped around her throat, and it felt good to sink in deep into the body of the Night King. She shook herself to be rid of the memory. 

He had cut his hair, it was the first thing she noticed when she saw him. It wasn’t a bad look, just different, and she wondered if he liked her better now that her own hair grown out longer. They were so young back then, Arry the orphan boy and Gendry the bastard. 

When she was a child, she wanted to be a knight. She wanted chivalry and sword fighting. Duty and honor and justice. To travel the seven kingdoms in the name of the warrior. 

Daenerys had handed all her dreams to her, she gave her the opportunity to make a name for herself, to be someone who wasn’t just the daughter of Ned Stark. 

And she had pushed it away. Just like she pushed Gendry away.

_ “Why are you doing this?” He was breathless when he asked her, his face open and vulnerable, his body so vulnerable she could have reached out and felt his very soul. _

_ She dug her nails into his shoulders and looked down at his face. His eyes were glued to her hips, and the deep scars that littered that area. She wished he would look at her face instead, just one more time. They had done this dance before, but this had to be the last.  _

_ Over and over she said that to herself, this will be the only other time. _

_ She didn’t reply. Instead she took his jaw in the palm of her hand and brought their lips together again. Now his eyes would be closed, so he couldn’t see her body.  _

_ His face was rough, and his lips were rough. She could feel the stubble around his chin and neck, and part of her stomach sank when she realized this isn’t what she wanted. It couldn’t be.  _

_ He released a breath below her lips, so she moved her mouth to kiss the side of his neck instead. She couldn’t let herself feel more than what he already brought out of her.  _

_ Hearing his groan brought her back to the present. _

_ It was too rough, too messy, she shouldn’t be doing this. _

_ “I’m sorry…” Her hands dragged against his chest as she sat up again on top of him. “You don’t want this.” _

I don’t want this _ , she wanted to say. She struggled to not lie to the man below her. _

_ “I-I do want this, Arya.” He said. Gendry shifted on the bed, placing his hands on her hips and finally looking her in the eyes instead of her scars. “I mean what I said, I want to marry you.” _

_ She raised an eyebrow. _

_ “Please, um, don’t tell your brother I said all that.” She supposed he was a little cute at this moment, blushing like a teenager. Cute for a man, at least. “I’d like to stay alive, I think.” _

_ “I won’t tell him. I won’t tell anyone.” She kissed him again, once more. “You don’t tell anyone either, okay?” _

_ If nobody knew, maybe that would make things better. Maybe she could let herself indulge in Gendry and have everything be okay, for just one more time. _

Up ahead was the castle of Storm’s End. After her travels, she had finally arrived. Looking up at the Baratheon banners now reminded her how Gendry stared up at her when they were together in Winterfell.

She clicked her tongue so her horse continued trotting up to the castle gates. Even though Gendry had only been Lord Baratheon for a short while now, there were still many men in suits of armor to help keep the castle secured. They seemed to be glad to have a new Lord, and were quick to become Baratheon bannermen once more.

Two men stood by the gate now, as the sun beat down on the land. The one on the right noticed her approaching first, and shifted the spear in his hand nervously. He didn’t lower it, but seemed to be preparing himself for her arrival.

She called ahead to them and let them know who she was, and why she was here. Arya Stark of Winterfell, here to see Lord Gendry. 

They welcomed her inside without a second thought, and Arya knew she needed to bring it up with Gendry how his security was lacking.

Her insides were twisted in anticipation. She hadn’t seen Gendry since that night at Winterfell, when he asked her to marry him, and when she told him she couldn’t.

She tied her horse up outside in the stables, and one of the guards escorted her to the great hall. Each step felt like an hour, and she berated herself for even coming here. What was she thinking, how could she have waltzed into Gendry’s home like this, after everything she had done? 

She fiddled with the dagger at her waist, thanking the guard for showing her the way and opening the door for her. With a deep breath, she steeled herself and walked into the room where she knew Gendry would be waiting for her.

###  **Sansa**

After a stressful morning of making sure everything was properly planned out, Sansa had welcomed her brother Jon and her friend Margaery into Winterfell. They were travelling with a small group of men, who would follow Jon north to the wall to help rebuild. 

News had come a few hours prior that they were spotted approaching the castle. Her stomach had ignited with butterflies, knowing that she would be reunited with Jon for the first time since the realm was saved. And  _ Margaery  _ was with him. 

Of course, she had given him a well needed hug, desperately holding onto his back and pressing her face into his shoulder as she told him how proud she was of his deeds. She was taller than him, something that had surprised her after they were reunited before, but gave her comfort now.

He had told her that he brought her a gift from the queen, and gestured back to Lady Margaery. 

Margaery, with her beautiful features and soft hands, the smell of roses, and the way she lit up a room with just her presence.

The woman was looking around the interior of Winterfell, wide eyes taking in the northern scenery. Sansa knew she had never been this far north before, and was honored that she had been sent to Winterfell.

Then their eyes met, and Sansa felt like everything was right in the world.

Now they sat next to each other at the head table in the great hall, watching over the men laughing and eating and cheering. 

“Your brother is a kind man, your father would be very proud.” Margaery said once she had finished eating her meal. 

Sansa pushed her food aside and clasped her hands under the table to hide her nerves. “Yes, he is a great man. A great warrior and leader.”

Already, Margaery had that familiar smirk on her face. “You’ve changed a bit. You’re taller now, and have a serious look about you.”

She was suddenly very aware of how her face was set in a scowl, and fought to relax her features. “I’m not a little girl anymore, I’ve been through terrible things. Yet I’m still here as Lady of Winterfell.”

Margaery looked away, and Sansa felt very foolish. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that my life is terrible. I can’t imagine what kind of horror you experienced at the hands of Cersei.”

“No, no, it’s quite alright.” She said, always reassuring Sansa, though she didn’t have to. “My brother went through worse, but he’s recovering well enough. I’d...rather not talk about it, if I’m being honest. We’re here now, me and you. That should be a good thing.”

“Of course.” Sansa swallowed hard. “Are you finished with your food? I can have one of the cooks bring more-”

“I’m fine, Sansa. Thank you.” She smiled again. This time it was soft, like when they would walk the gardens together, rather than her usual look that seemed like she was teasing Sansa. “I think I’m tired from the journey here. Would you walk me to my room?”

In her haste to stand, Sansa’s chair screeched loudly on the stone floor. The noise and chatter from the people stopped and all the men looked to her. For a moment she had forgotten who she was to the men in the room. 

“My apologies, please, continue the festivities.” She hurried to get the attention off of herself. They must have thought she had something to say, and she felt a light blush creeping up her neck. 

Margaery raised a hand to her mouth to cover her laugh, but stood from her chair all the same. She offered an arm to Sansa, and they fell into their old habit so easily, like they were back in the gardens, a million worlds away.

Her arm felt more thin than when they were in King’s Landing, no doubt that as a prisoner she hadn’t been fed as well as when she was a highborn lady of the court.

“I forgot to say, after being swept up from the excitement of the feast.” Margaery broke their comfortable silence as they walked down the hallway towards her room. “Thank you for having me here. It’s a lovely castle, and you are a lovely girl looking after it.”

Sansa stared straight ahead, relishing in the companionship of her friend, and the feel of her arm underneath her fingertips. She could sense that the other girl was looking at her, yet she couldn’t bring herself to turn her head to check.

“I’m glad to have you. I was overjoyed when I heard the news about you and Ser Loras.” She responded. “You are welcome here anytime, think of Winterfell as a second home if you need it to be.”

It was so easy for her to fall back into the persona of a simple noblewoman. Her words sounded hollow, and and she wished they could convey how she truly felt without it seeming forced and insincere. So her fingers tightened around Margaery’s arm. 

They arrived at the room Margaery would be staying in during her visit. Earlier one of Sansa’s handmaid’s had brought Margaery’s things up to the room, so that she could feel more at home during the night.

“We have a lot of catching up to do, don’t we?” Margaery took Sansa’s hands in hers and moved to where they were facing each other.

“Lots.” She said. “There were many times where all I wanted was you next to me, to help me figure out what to do.”

“You’ve been married  _ twice  _ now, almost as many times as I have been.” She pointed out. 

They were both laughing together, before Margaery intertwined her fingers with Sansa’s. It made the laugh catch in her throat, and she tensed up. 

Margaery’s smile slowly disappeared, yet Sansa couldn’t tear her eyes away from gazing at how beautiful and full her lips looked. 

“It’s a shame that you’ve never been kissed by someone who loves you.” 

She quickly looked up to Margaery’s eyes, hoping that the girl hadn’t noticed her staring. There she found a fire in Margaery’s eyes that made something in Sansa’s stomach twist.

“Littlefinger loved me.” She said and licked her lips without meaning to. They were sore from where she had been subconsciously worrying her bottom lip with her teeth at dinner.

“Lord Baelish was a disgusting little man. As most men are.” Margaery shook her head and took a step closer to diminish the space between them. “You deserve an innocent love.”

Sansa could feel the girl’s breath upon her lips now, their faces so close that she could nearly count her eyelashes. Her heart in her throat, she couldn’t help but ask. “Do you love me, then?”

The girl paused, and touched their foreheads together. If anyone came down the hallway, they might have thought they were kissing. They had nothing to hide, not anymore, not in Sansa’s own home.

“I don’t know.” Margaery told her. “But...I feel that I could. Does that bother you?”

She liked the way Margaery’s fingers felt in between her own. She liked the way her eyes fluttered when they got closer. She liked the way she was bold, brave, and beautiful, everything Sansa wished she could be, and everything she wished she could find.

“I don’t know.” She said the same. “I don’t think it does.”

“Good.” Margaery moved her head away from Sansa. 

As Margaery took a step back, Sansa stepped forward. She didn’t want there to be any more space between them, and she would have given anything to avoid that. 

She watched as the other girl’s eyes flicked between Sansa’s eyes and lips. This was the first time Sansa didn’t feel nervous while being around Margaery. She didn’t know what had changed, but the air felt different.

Another step back from Margaery, and another step forward from Sansa. And another. Then Margaery was backed against the door to her room, and Sansa was right there with her. 

There was no more room for Margaery to back away. But there was room for Sansa to move closer. She leaned in, all the space between them vanished, and they kissed.

It felt like an innocent love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yaaaay Sansa and Margaery. I'm not sure how I feel about Arya and Gendry, but I'll see where it goes.
> 
> Next chapter will have Yara and Jaime perspective.


	7. Yara, Jaime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Yara confronts Dany, and Jaime finishes his duty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was slow at work today so I got this chapter finished. Please enjoy :^)

###  **Yara**

The good news was that the ironborn were definitely on board with Yara becoming the wife to the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. The bad news was that despite her earlier confidence in accepting Yara’s proposal, the queen herself seemed to be doing everything she could to avoid being around Yara.

They hadn’t made their engagement public yet, aside from Yara’s men who needed security that the Iron Islands would not just meekly sit by as the realm was ruled by a foreign woman. She trusted those men with her life, but the news would no doubt start spreading by word of mouth now that they knew.

The first time she noticed that the queen was dodging her, Daenerys had been walking with Tyrion down a staircase in the castle. Yara just so happened to be heading upstairs to her quarters to rest after being outside the entire night. She had rubbed her eyes and staggered towards her destination, eagerly awaiting when she could fall face down on her mattress, before she spotted the dragon queen approaching.

As they passed each other Yara gave her a wink, as usual, and tried to start speaking. Quickly, Dany had avoided her eyes and seemed to walk faster down the stairs, almost brushing her away.

_ Strange _ , she had thought, Daenerys was not usually one to avoid greeting her, even in passing. _ Though I do suppose our queen is quite busy lately, repairing the kingdoms and whatnot. _

The second time was similar to the first, where they saw each other in the castle doing nothing in particular. This time Daenerys had seemed infinitely less busy, and was alone rather than with her Hand. 

There should have been no excuse as to why she avoided Yara, who was technically her betrothed. In Yara’s opinion, that should have counted for something and made her worthy to have a bit of the queen’s time. A thought she would never voice, she wouldn’t want to seem desperate and needy of course. She had a reputation to uphold.

Yara herself had been on her way to attend to an ironborn matter outside the city, but she had stopped in her tracks at the sight of Daenerys. She had bowed her head and greeted her queen, but Dany hadn’t even looked in her direction. Instead she chose to walk ahead, a slight coloring on her cheeks. 

That was when Yara knew something had to be wrong. Two times that week she had been ignored. And not once had the queen summoned her to the council room. Usually there were matters to attend to at least every other day. 

It was true, the  _ master of ships _ probably didn’t need to be present for  _ every _ meeting, but surely the future wife of the queen could have been invited? She knew it was wrong to expect so much, and berated herself for feeling entitled to anything. When it came down to it she was a simple woman and belonged on the sea, not in a stuffy meeting room with  _ men _ .

A few days after the second encounter was the next time Daenerys tried to avoid her. Judging by the position of the moon in the sky, Yara figured it was very much-so past the queen’s bedtime. 

Since it was so late, she had opened the door to the kitchen quietly, not wanting to be caught sneaking around when no cooks or servants were around. Her original goal had been to steal a bite to eat; going to bed on an empty stomach was a bad idea. Especially taking into account the amount of alcohol she consumed that evening, hanging around the ironborn.

After she delicately closed the door behind her, she turned around slowly and was face to face with Daenerys. Her eyes were wide, shimmering purple in the moonlight that bled in from the windows. It was beautiful, the way her white hair reflected the light.

“Oh, Dany. You hungry too?” She asked, the alcohol made her forget to use formalities.

Daenerys ripped her gaze away and said nothing, deciding instead that the ground was a much better place to look at. 

There was a tense moment before Yara saw that her arms were behind her back, likely hiding the food that the queen had been eating. It made her chuckle, the  _ queen _ , here to sneakily eat some bread in the middle of the night, hoping that no one would know.

“Your secret is safe with me, no worries. I won’t tell the people that their queen is like a young squire, trying to sneak around the castle at night.” Yara joked around with her, she was always joking around. It was better than being serious like Jon Snow, or entirely rid of emotion like his brother Bran.

“No need, I was just leaving.” Dany’s voice was quiet, timid, like she didn’t want to be heard as she reached for the door handle behind Yara. 

Despite the alcohol, her reflexes were still better than the queen’s. Her hand darted out and grabbed onto Dany’s wrist, stopping her from reaching the door knob.

Her eyes were brought back up to Yara’s, their purple irises cutting into her heart. Suddenly their bodies were a lot closer together than they were before. She could almost imagine the way their chests could press together if she leaned a few inches forward.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” It broke the tension between them, but she couldn’t stop herself from asking. 

Daenerys was quiet for a few moments, the moonlight seeping in through the windows helped with obscuring all the internal turmoil Yara’s question had created. 

“My actions were unbecoming for a queen, I was too forward.” She said. “I should know better than to get close to people I shouldn’t trust.”

“So it’s about trust?” She gripped Dany’s wrist tighter. “You don’t trust me? Think of the things I’ve done for you, the things I sacrificed to get you across the sea. I killed my family for you, and for the good you bring this world.”

For a moment, fire flickered in the queen’s eyes. Then just as quickly as it came, it was gone. “It’s not that...I do trust you, but I know it’s wrong to.”

“I’ll kill anyone who says it’s wrong. Just say the word.” Yara prided herself on being honest with everyone around her. If somebody wanted to question her loyalty, they could talk to the sharp edge of her blade.

A wave of calm washed over Dany’s face, and she raised her free hand up to gently touch Yara’s cheek. Her thumb caressed the skin there, slowly back and forth.

“I have never loved a woman.” She whispered, as if sharing a secret.

“I’ve never  _ loved _ anyone.” Yara replied. She had been around the realm, met many different people, amazing women and attractive women. None of which she had fallen truly in love with. “You can rely on me. We can learn together, as queens.”

The edges of her lips turned up in a smile. Alcohol coursing through Yara’s system urged her to lean forward and taste them, to see if they were as sweet as they looked. The tender touch of Dany’s palm cupping her jaw was the only thing that stopped her from breaking the unspoken barrier that was between them.

“You’re loud, and scary, and imposing, everything I was taught a woman should not be.” Dany seemed breathless.

“I’ll kill the people who say that, too. Women can be anything and everything they want. We’ll show them, all the people in this world from the west to the east.” She told Daenerys the truth, and meant every word.

After Yara finished speaking, Daenerys moved to pull her hand back. Before her fingers could disconnect from her skin, Yara’s own hand latched onto the girl’s wrist and held it to her face, not wanting their physical attachment to end.

“Can I kiss you?” She blurted out.

“I thought you weren’t the type of woman to ask such things.” Her eyes gave the impression that she would be okay with kissing Yara, maybe even craved for her to take charge and finally do it.

“Well, you’re a queen, figured I should have  _ some _ manners.” She couldn’t say that she had been drinking and it was taking all her control to not act how she usually would.

Dany shook her head. Then she broke her other hand free of Yara’s grip, the one that had only minutes before been reaching to open the door so she could leave, and clutched onto the other side of Yara’s face. 

Not even a full moment passed before she pulled Yara in harshly, and then they were kissing. Desperate and messy, nothing at all like a queen should be. She could feel it on her tongue that the girl had never kissed a woman before. With the way she clutched at the back of her head, pulling at the hair on the sensitive part of her neck, Yara knew she must have at least thought about it once or twice.

“Fuck manners,” She gasped into Yara’s mouth, not wanting to break their kiss just yet. “You’ll be a queen too soon enough.”

Her lips were as sweet as they looked, as sweet as she dreamed they would be. There was a tug low in her belly that spurred her to maneuver Daenerys until she was backed up against one of the kitchen tables. The girl hissed when her back connected with the hardwood, so Yara reached down to grab onto the back of her thighs and lift her up.

Yara was swept up in the moment, relishing in the feel of her tongue that was pressed on the inside of Dany’s mouth. She almost missed the way Daenerys put a hand against her chest and pushed. 

At that movement she broke away, deciding instead to mouth at the sensitive part of the queen’s neck. She sucked at her pulse point, and dug her fingers into Dany’s hips when the girl scraped her nails down Yara’s back. There would be marks on her back for sure, and she would wear them proudly.

She wanted Dany’s clothes off, on the floor, so she could have better access to the tantalizing surface of her collarbone and the tempting skin on her chest. 

The feel of her legs wrapped around Yara’s waist was driving her mad, making her litter open mouthed kisses and love bites across the queen’s throat. The sounds that Daenerys made in response sent tingles down her spine, and Yara gripped her hips harder against her body.

“Wait-” Daenerys was breathing hard, making her chest rise and fall in a way that made Yara slide a hand up the front of her shirt, not quite able to reach her destination before Dany spoke again. “Wait, wait…” 

Conflicting with her words, Daenerys moved her core so it rubbed against the hard surface of Yara’s waist, a low moan filling the air. A hand reached up again to pull at the hair on the back of her head, tugging her back so that her lips disconnected from Dany’s skin.

Yara was panting, from the alcohol making her head pound and from the feel of Daenerys grinding against her that was making other parts of her body pound. She looked at the dark marks that led a trail down Dany’s neck, showing the path that she had been slowly taking down towards her chest.

There was another push on her chest when she tried to lean back in. Then she realized that Daenerys had asked her to stop. “I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“No, it’s fine, please…” Daenerys tightened her legs around Yara’s waist so she couldn’t walk away. “I just...we shouldn’t be doing this.”

She swiped a thumb across Yara’s lower lip while she looked contemplatively at her face, and Yara had the urge to take it into her mouth.

“You can do whatever you want, whenever you want to.” Yara told her. “That’s why you’re Queen.”

Daenerys shook her head then pressed their lips together again, gently, with her lips tightly closed. It was short and sweet, the greatest ‘goodbye’ kiss Yara had ever experienced. She didn’t want to open her eyes after, knowing that Daenerys would break her heart when she left.

“I should go to bed now...” She felt Daenerys slide down from the top of the table, now standing in front of Yara who still had her eyes still shut so she could savor the moment of them together. “You should go to sleep too, so you don’t feel terrible in the morning from the alcohol.”

“There’s not a chance in the world that I could possibly feel bad tomorrow.” Yara said with a slight laugh. 

Her eyes slowly opened and she saw Daenerys looking off in the distance out the window. The moon was sinking lower in the sky; morning should be arriving soon. 

When she didn’t respond, Yara asked, “Will you let me walk you to your room?”

“Again with the polite questions. It’s almost as if you want me to think of you as a gentleman.” Daenerys looked to her and smiled. “But I’m afraid I have to decline. If I let you near my room, you may not be able to return to yours.”

The air in the room got hotter, and the tension she felt nearly led to another lapse of control on Yara’s part. She took a step away from Daenerys, creating more distance that dissipated the pressure between them.

With one last kiss, this time to the knuckles of Dany’s hand, Yara bid her goodnight with a promise of new beginnings. Maybe now the queen would stop avoiding her. 

###  **Jaime**

It was easier to take Highgarden the second time than it was the first. Granted, his men were already in charge of the castle by the time they arrived. There was no grand battle, no death. He had sent word for a discussion, and was allowed to enter with no fight. 

The men were haggard and worn down. Deep down he experienced a twinge of regret and guilt for the way they felt. Jaime had told them they were free to go home. Not just to return to Lannisport, but they could return to their  _ real  _ homes. Be with their families. Be at peace. 

As he expected, many men agreed to this. He watched their faces ease as the look of peace passed behind their eyes. Some laughed and looked awkward. Some said they would return with him to Casterly Rock. Some spat at his feet and stormed off. But nobody died. And to him that was a great victory. 

When he returned to his camp that night, Brienne helped him remove his armor. She touched him as if we was made of glass and would shatter if she misplaced her hands.  _ Just touch me, woman _ , he wanted to say,  _ I won’t break under you. _

Her squire Podrick had came with them to the castle, though he didn’t have the chance to enter the stronghold himself. It was enough for him to be there, to watch and learn from his mentor and from Jaime. 

He thought the two of them made an odd match up. He hadn’t realized how well it would work out when they had been sent off together, but the boy was practically turning into a knight under Brienne’s guidance. 

They sat down in his tent and wrote out a letter for a raven to send to Queen Daenerys and her entourage, explaining that Highgarden was under her rule again so Ser Loras and Theon can ride to the castle.

It was easier for Brienne to write it on the parchment, but Jaime instructed her on what to put. His eyes followed the movement of her hand as she dipped the quill into ink and put it back on the page over and over again.

The quill scratched against the paper, creating the words as he was saying them. Men would say the handwriting was as ugly as the woman behind it, but Jaime didn’t see it that way. Each line and dot of ink was put there with purpose, like how Brienne did everything in her life. 

Jaime’s voice stuttered as he felt great admiration for his companion. What did he ever do to deserve to be here with her?

“Ser Jaime?” He heard her ask, her soft voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “Are you alright?”

There were tears on his face when he moved his hand up to feel his cheek. He hadn’t even realized what was happening before it was too late, and Brienne saw. Quickly he turned to the side, rubbing his face to rid himself of the salty tears.

“My apologies, I don’t know what happened.” He took a deep breath to ease himself. It hardly worked. “Let’s continue, we’re almost finished.”

He could still feel her gaze on the back of his head, and he clenched his hand into a fist. Men shouldn’t cry like this, so openly in front of a lady. 

There was much for him to think about. It was a struggle to continue to help Brienne with writing their letter to the queen, when all he could think about was the future and the past, all at once. Thinking of the present wasn’t even an option. 

Brienne set down the quill and put a cap on the ink pot. Then she rolled up the scroll and used a candle to put a dot of wax on the seal, before using Jaime’s stamp of the Lannister sigil to signify it was an official document. With a final tap of the scroll on the table, she called for Podrick to enter the tent.

The young squire took the scroll from his teacher, and hurried to get it sent off. After he exited the room, Brienne turned to him and ran a hand through her cropped hair.

“I guess that’s it then.” She said and sat down in her chair once more. “Our war is over.”

“I’m lucky I wasn’t executed for treason.” He couldn’t help but spit the words out. “I was even given my homeland back, after all that I’ve done.”

Over and over he had thought about it, every single scenario of Daenerys on the Iron Throne. In all outcomes he knew he would die, with Cersei, or by Daenerys’ order. And yet he was still alive. Still, after all this time, he was  _ alive. _ His children were dead, all of them, like their mother.

Brienne broke him out of his thoughts, “You’re an honorable man, it should have always been yours.” Her words were genuine, though they felt like arrows being shot into his heart. It pained him to know that she thought of him as a good man, when all he felt was guilt for still walking around this godforsaken world.

“I know you agreed to come with me to Casterly Rock, but surely you must have other dreams to pursue?” Jaime asked. The last thing he wanted was to keep Brienne from getting out in the world and  _ living.  _ Life should be more than just surviving.

She thought for a few moments, picking at the skin on her hand. “My greatest dream already came true, because of you. I’m a knight of the seven kingdoms now, so I’ll go wherever you go.”

“No, you don’t owe me any-”

“I’ll keep you safe. Keep you protected...I do owe you that much.” She reached over and took his good hand with both of hers.

Her palms were callused, hard, like a seasoned warriors should be. When he was young he would have thought them to be manly and unappealing. Now, he found no better comfort than the woman holding his only hand.

For the second time that evening he found tears quietly running down his face. Nobody in this world had ever said they would keep him safe before. As a Kingsguard and as a knight, he was always the one to be on alert and protect those around him. 

Brienne removed one of her hands from his and gently brushed his tears away. His eyes were clenched shut, he couldn’t stand to see what her face looked like at this moment. Would there be disgust on her face? Or perhaps pity? Surely she would laugh at his pain, as she should.

Instead, she stood from her chair and wrapped her arms around his head, tugging him to her chest in an intimate embrace. The tears were flowing openly now, and he struggled to keep himself quiet as his heart was breaking in her arms. 

She stroked his hair and whispered to him that everything was alright. It would all be okay. She was there now, she would stay with him, and always be there for him no matter what. Even if the gods were to force them apart, she would come back to him.

His left hand clutched to her back, and he pressed his face into her, taking a few selfish moments of comfort for himself and waiting for his tears to dry up.

He hoped that she was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if you have any ideas! Hmu up on tumblr @ korrasamei. I'm always down to chat.


	8. Sansa, Theon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sansa says goodbye, and Theon looks forward.

###  **Sansa**

The sky seemed to be brighter since Margaery arrived. Days had come and gone, and she felt as if she was a young girl again, spending time outside in the snow and laughing along with her friend. 

As the Lady of Winterfell, the northern people relied on her for leadership. The weight of the north was on her shoulders, and it was nice to have a break from the hardships of wartime. She loved her life, truly, but sometimes she needed to remind herself and those around her that she was a young woman, not a stuffy old lord. 

Lady Margaery helped with that.

If she wasn’t careful, Sansa figured she might get too attached to the way the Tyrell woman seemed to naturally command those around her. It would have been nice, to have a companion by her side to help with keeping the North intact. Like all good things in Sansa’s life, it was bound to come to a crashing halt any day now. She was savoring it while it lasted.

Earlier that morning, she received another raven stating that Queen Daenerys in the south was to be betrothed to Yara Greyjoy. She was surprised by the news, considering the Iron Islands relationship with the rest of the realm. It seemed like every day now she was receiving at least  _ some _ type of news from the south, whether it was good or bad.

Surely the North deserved a better position in Westeros, but she clenched her jaw and brushed it aside. Now was not the time to spring up new troubles, not when everything was finally turning out for the better.

There were a group of men outside in the courtyard below, assisting Jon with packing his supplies for the Wall. In her opinion, he could have been a good match for Daenerys, if it hadn’t been for his unnecessary urge to sacrifice himself at every moment for the  _ greater good _ . 

It would have strengthened the North’s view of the rest of the kingdoms, and specifically their view of the dragon queen herself, if she were to marry a northern lord. Currently they were content with her rule, though they weren’t actively welcoming. 

Yet Jon was not a true Stark, and he had willingly given up his title of King in the North in favor of following Dany. That scratched out any idea Sansa may have had regarding bringing their houses together.

“You look lost in thought, my dear.” Sansa was sitting at the chair next to her window, when Margaery rested a hand gently on her shoulder from behind. “Would you like to talk about it?”

Sansa shook her head and placed one of her hands on top of Margaery’s, giving it a weak squeeze to let her know that it was okay, before returning her hand to her lap.

“It’s fine,” She said, and bit her lower lip in thought. “I wish Jon would stay. He only just got back, and before that we had been apart from each other for so long.”

“Bran is here, at least you still have one brother in Winterfell.” 

Margaery kissed the hair on top of her head. Since they were alone together in her room, they had nobody to hide from. 

“Though I know what you mean. I miss Loras greatly, but I know he is doing what he wants. All we can do is support our brothers, even through stupid decisions.” She added the last part in with a laugh.

“Arya is gone now too.” Sansa appreciated what Margaery was saying, but couldn’t shake the feeling of loneliness that had crept its way into her cold heart. “That leaves me, alone, to lead the north. And now, the queen has chosen another outsider to rule by her side.”

“Lady Yara is not an outsider. At least, not like the queen is.” She replied. “She’s brash and rude, but she’s Ironborn. And the Ironborn are part of the seven kingdoms.”

“It doesn’t sit well with me.”

“Because they are both women?” Margaery asked.

“No, of course not,” Sansa tried to not trip over her words. 

The memory of Margaery’s lips pressed against hers, of the way her body felt between Sansa and the door, of the sounds she made beneath her, they all ran through her head.

“Ah, so you’re  _ jealous _ then?” Her friend seemed to be mocking her, Sansa thought.

“ _ No, _ it’s not that either. I-who would I even be jealous  _ of _ ?” She asked, fighting to keep her thoughts at bay.

“Hmm, let’s see…” Margaery lay her free hand on the other side of Sansa’s shoulder, resting her chin on top of her head where a few moments before she had placed a kiss. “There’s Queen Daenerys, who has that platinum white hair and stunningly purple eyes. A true Targaryen woman. You could be jealous of Yara for getting to see that every morning when she wakes up.”

“I don’t think of the queen like that.” She replied.

“No? Then there’s Yara Greyjoy, the lady pirate who they say can conquer any woman with just a stroke of her hand. You could be jealous of the way she serves the queen, in many different ways.”

Her words brought images to Sansa’s head that she didn’t necessarily want to imagine regarding her with another woman, so she didn’t reply for several moments.

“If I had to pick, I guess it would be her.”

Even though Margaery was behind her, Sansa could just  _ feel _ the smirk that found its way on the girl’s face. “We are very alike, my lady.”

Outside the window, Sansa spotted Jon making his way towards the stables. His cloak was fluttering in the wind, reminding her of their father with the way he wore the heavy furs. 

“I should go say goodbye to my brother.” She stood from her chair and turned to Margaery. “Would you like to come with me?”

The girl shook her head, “I’ll stay here and wait for your return. I shouldn’t intrude on Stark business.”

They embraced for a moment, the first time since the other night when they shared their kiss. It hadn’t been mentioned by either of them yet, but Sansa could tell that there was a tension between them that needed to be brought up sooner rather than later. 

For now, she inhaled the sweet scent from Margaery’s hair, and assured her she would be back soon. Nobody would question why Margaery was alone in Sansa’s room, on the off chance someone found out. 

One of the good parts of being the Lady of Winterfell was that she could do whatever she wanted, with whoever she wanted, and none of the men had the guts to confront her about it.

She took another coat before closing the bedroom door behind her. The winter was rumored to be ending soon, but it never was that warm in Winterfell regardless of the season.

Jon met her out in the courtyard after spotting her walking towards him. His unkept beard had grown out longer, making him seem older than he really was. Sansa noticed that he took his hair down as well, letting the messy curls fall down the edges of his face instead of keeping it slicked back in a bun.

“Sansa,” he started, “thank you for letting me stay here on my way to the Wall.”

“Winterfell is your home, it will always be your home.” She told the man.

The corners of her mouth couldn’t help but turn up after seeing the soft smile on his face.

“Still, I appreciate it. I’ll miss you greatly when I’m gone.” Jon sounded sad, even if that wasn’t uncommon for him.

“You don’t have to leave- forget what the queen says. This is the north, we have our own rules.” She lowered her voice. Despite commanding all the men around her, it was still a risk to speak ill of the queen.

He shook his head, the curls on his head being swept in the wind. “I have to do this.”

They hugged; savoring the moment that could very well be their last embrace for many years to come. She fought back tears, and buried her face into the furs around his neck to stop him from noticing. It felt nice to have his arms wrapped around her back, keeping her body close to his.

“At least you won’t be alone.” He said to her. “You and Lady Margaery seem to be rather... _ close _ .”

The moment between them was over, like a cold bucket of water had been thrown over her head, and she pushed him away lightheartedly with her mouth slightly ajar. Jon stumbled at the action, before he began laughing with a hand on his stomach.

She couldn’t stop herself from laughing along with him, like they were both children again, and she pretended for a moment that their parents were standing over in the castle walkway looking down on them.

“Do you...approve of Margaery?” After they finished laughing, Sansa asked him. 

She couldn’t help but feel nervous, despite not fully understanding her feelings for the other girl. There was something between them, something that she couldn’t control. Even if she could, Sansa didn’t know if she wanted to stop it.

“Aye, she seems like a good lady.” He thought for a moment then nodded his head. “Better than the last few people you’ve been with, that’s for sure.”

That brought another laugh from both of them. Even though she had been married twice to enemies of the Starks, everything that happened had brought her to where she was today. At least, that’s what Bran had told her. 

If she had to redo it, she would chose to go through the same events over and over so long as it meant she could be together with Margaery again.

Before too long it was time for Jon to head out with the rest of his group, they wanted to make good progress towards the Wall before the sun fully set. Sansa helped him saddle his horse, the physical work gave her mind a nice break from thinking of his absence. 

She watched as he swung his leg over the horse and got himself situated on top. When he looked down at her there were tears in the corner of his eyes. The sight of it made her throat restrict, and breathing became more difficult for a few moments.

She took a shuddering breath. “I love you, Jon.” 

She could think of no other words to say to him, and hoped that was enough.

His smile looked so very much like Ned’s when he replied. “And I love you, Sansa. Keep Winterfell safe for me.”

“Always.” Sansa promised.

She stood there until he was out of sight, way past the boundaries of Winterfell and out into the northern air. When she turned around, she could see Margaery looking down at her from the window in Sansa’s room. 

The little wave Margaery gave Sansa spurred her to return up there, to be inside her warm home once more and live in the world that she helped shape, with a woman she was entirely too fond of.

###  **Theon**

“I want to thank you for saving me.” Loras said to him as they rode along the King’s Road towards Highgarden. 

They had been travelling for a little over a day, just the two of them with a couple of the Tyrell soldiers who wanted to return to their homeland. Although he had been a prisoner in King’s Landing, Loras seemed to be almost sad at the prospect of leaving the city. 

Nevertheless he led his men and Theon towards what would be their new home. Theon himself didn’t miss the cold northern air of Winterfell, where he spent his childhood growing up. It was the same on the other hand, he didn’t miss the salty air of the sea near Pyke either.

His two sides conflicted with each other, both Stark and Greyjoy, and left him confused to where he truly belonged. If he had to pick a place to spend the rest of his days, it would be somewhere warm like the sea, but somewhere comfortable and homey like Winterfell.

“It wasn’t me, you should thank the queen.” He replied to Loras after a few moments. 

Though he was the man to head down in the dungeon and set free all of Cersei’s prisoners, he never would have been there if it hadn’t been for his sister and the queen. They were the true heroes of the day.

“Maybe so, but you risked your life to be there, to help people. In my eyes, that makes you a lot better than most of the men I’ve met.” The knight of flowers brushed his curly hair out of his eyes. “And I’ve met a lot of men.”

The man’s hair had gotten a lot longer since he was set free. Theon liked the way it fell in his face, and the way Loras always seemed annoyed by it and pushed it away. He would never voice those thoughts, of course.

“My life isn’t worth much, it wasn’t hard to risk it.” He didn’t say it for pity, he was just being honest like Yara would be.

“Don’t say that. As handsome as you are, surely you have a woman out there who needs you?” Loras said.

Theon couldn’t tell if he was being mocked. Surely Loras had known about his time with Ramsay, and the way he was broken down on every level possible. He shifted in the saddle on top his horse, never getting used to the way it felt now.

He cleared his throat before responding, “No. Nobody needs me.”

“I need you.” He’s still smiling, pure, but with a hidden depth that drew Theon in. “Who else would keep me company in Highgarden?”

“All the women in the seven kingdoms love you, and half the men.”

“Is that strange to you?”

Theon didn’t want to seem rude, he knew that Loras enjoyed the company of men, and he himself didn’t see a problem with that. Yara was the same, preferring her own sex over any others. 

“No. I-I think...my brother, Robb-” 

“Seemed to fancy men?” Loras had a smirk on his face, much like his sister.

“Robb did the things he did for love. I wish to be like him.” He stated. “That’s all. I respect your choices, my sister would as well.”

Robb had lived for love, everyone across the realm knew as much. He had sacrificed duty and honor for a woman he pledged his life to. Not for power or money, but because his heart was hers, and he couldn’t stand to give it to another.

“Well, Theon Greyjoy, maybe you’ll find the love you’re looking for in Highgarden.”

They fell back into their comfortable silence, something they were both all too familiar with as of late. It was a nice change of pace, compared to the high-energy from his sister Yara that he was so used too. 

He looked towards the horizon, and the setting sun in the sky. Sometimes all he wanted was some peace and quiet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filler chapter? Filler chapter. But Sansa and Jon deserved a better goodbye than what the show gave them.
> 
> I'll be wrapping up Theon's part soon. I want to get him safe and comfortable in Highgarden before focusing on the women in this story. 
> 
> Next chapter will get to more of the plot with Yara and Dany.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	9. Yara, Arya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Yara is grumpy, and Arya is sad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No proofreading, we die like men.

###  **Yara**

She  _ loved  _ kissing the queen. She loved the way her body felt, at least the parts of it she was allowed to touch, and she tried to experience more of it with every spare moment she had.

The queen would push her hands away when they strayed too far, whisper in her ear that now wasn’t the time, that someone would hear, to please have patience. In the same breath she would beg her not to stop. 

It was thoroughly baffling, and Yara had no one to share her frustrations with.

Which led to her accepting Tyrion’s invitation to go out for drinks that afternoon. Normally she would have laughed at his proposition. After all, why would she want to spend her free time hanging around a grumpy old man, when the beautiful queen was a much better option?

“So, Queen Daenerys, infatuated with a Greyjoy pirate.” The man had been struggling to keep up with her drinking, and was at the point where his words were starting to slur together. “Who would have thought?”

Yara polished off the rest of her mug of ale and set it down harshly on the bar. “I knew. I always know these things. When I set my eyes on a woman - it’s simply inevitable.”

Her voice was steady, and she admired the small man’s eagerness to prove himself to her. He was known around the lands as an expert of alcohol and women, but even then he was no match for her, on both fronts. The difference in size between their bodies was too great, it wasn’t possible for his alcohol tolerance to surpass her own.

“Nonsense! You have confidence, but I have known her longer- you never saw the way she looked at Daario.” He was nearly shouting at her, so she leaned back away from him.

“Daario? And the queen?” Yara scoffed at him, a puzzled look on her face. 

There were a couple of men a few feet away sitting at a table, one of which kept looking in their direction. His friend was heavily intoxicated, and kept slamming his hands into the table after every joke. Hearing the noise made the blood in Yara’s head throb.

With a wave of her hand she called the tavernkeep over to their spot at the bar, asking for another round of drinks for her and the Hand. She heard him groan beside her, and he struggled to pour the rest of the ale down his throat before the next mugs arrived.

“Daario, and the queen! You remember him? Such an attractive man, Ser Jorah  _ hated _ him with a passion. He tried to hide it, but we all knew.” Then he started rambling about  _ Daario _ , making Yara struggle to keep up with his words. 

Maybe the alcohol was getting to her more than she thought; she was overcome with the urge to punch someone, preferably a man, ideally a man named Daario. 

The men around them at the bar were keeping their distance, no doubt they recognized who Tyrion was, if not Yara herself as well. All except for that one man who kept glancing over at her. It made her jaw clench. Did he think he was going to get on her good side with his incessant staring? He had another thing coming. 

She had been in King’s Landing for a good amount of time now, and spent many nights drinking around the town. It was important to her for a figurehead of the city to  _ know _ about the city, and not just the areas considered to be for the wealthy. Frequently she would attract stares from the people around her, if they didn’t recognize her for being Greyjoy, they recognized her from her relationship to the queen. 

The majority of the population lived in the poor sections, with the disgusting streets and dirty men. Nevertheless, she made herself familiar with the ins and outs of wherever she could walk to. The establishment they were drinking at that night was one of the better ones, closer to the Red Keep itself rather than the streets for the common people.

“Don’t you agree?” Tyrion shoved her arm and asked her a question, jolting her out of her own thoughts.

“Sorry?” She squinted at him for several seconds, not quite comprehending the question since her mind was elsewhere. 

Time had gotten the best of her, and she had so easily forgotten that she had company. It was second nature for her to stop listening once someone was prattling on about a man. The table in front of them was sticky, and she was distracted by trying to keep her arms clean from the filth. Even wealthy men were men all the same, and brought grime to whatever they touched.

“Come on, don’t you agree that it will be strange if Daario arrives to the city and sees that his lover is in the arms of someone else?” 

Her blood ran cold. “Wait. Daario is coming to Westeros?”

Tyrion nodded frantically even though he was grinning ear to ear. It made him look like a court jester, with how giddy he seemed; a stark contrast to her own mellow mood. Some part of it seemed unnerving, she had very rarely seen Tyrion in a state other than stone-cold serious.

“I received a letter from him this morning. Quite odd, receiving a letter from a man like that,” Tyrion was starting to babble again. “Of course, he will undoubtedly ask for Daenerys’ permission first, though I imagine she will accept him with open arms, maybe even open-”

“That’s enough.” She interrupted before he could finish his drunken rambling.

“Right, sorry, sorry. Not used to you having feelings for the queen, it will take some adjust-”

“I don’t have feelings.” She cut him off again, growing irritated with the pounding in her head and the pounding fists of the men a few tables away, who were now getting riled up over some game involving a knife.

Memories of how the queen tasted on her lips filled Yara’s head, she couldn’t stand the thought of having that taken away from her, not now and not ever.

“Alright, if that’s what you want to call it.” He turned to the rest of the room and raised his glass. “Let it be known that Yara Greyjoy has no feelings!”

A few men raised their cups as well to cheer, not understanding what was happening but wanting to be drunkenly included all the same.

Before she knew what she was doing, Yara was on her feet. Her chair was pushed aside and she ignored the strange looks that the men in the room threw her way.

“I should get back to the castle. You win this round, Lord Tyrion.” She gave him a hard clap on the shoulder, nearly knocking him from his chair accidentally, before tossing some coins on the table to pay for her tab.

He looked confused to say the least, eyebrows ruffled together and lips pursed. The ale made him sluggish, and he wasn’t quick enough to stop her before she already had one foot out the door, leaving him alone at the bar with his mouth slightly ajar.

Tyrion wondered for half a second if he had said the wrong thing, like he was prone to do. With a shrug of his shoulders he decided it wasn’t worth the trouble, she couldn’t be mad for long, if she was even mad at all. 

“To Daario,” he whispered into his cup and downed the rest of the liquid that it contained.

Outside, Yara raised a hand to cover her eyes from the hot sun that was scorching King’s Landing. Even when it was near the edge of the horizon, about to fall down the side of the world and be replaced with the moon, it was shining bright against her skin. 

Combined with the slight buzz she felt from the ale, and the sour mood Tyrion’s words brought, if she could reach up to the sky and swat the sun away, she would. 

A man accidentally brushed against her shoulder as she walked down the busy street, and it took all her power to not turn around and deck him in the face. Or the stomach. Or the balls. Somewhere it would hurt, somewhere that would make her feel better for the thoughts that ran through her head and the guilt they brought.

She didn’t know where she was staggering along to. In the bar she had told Tyrion she would return to the castle, but now that she was out in the open air she didn’t think she could stomach heading back to the place where the girl of her affections was unaware of her harsh feelings. 

Yara didn’t want to snap at her, or bring up mentions of the man she had apparently been in love with. Right now all she wanted to do was wallow in misery, by herself. Perhaps a brothel would be better. She had the coin for it, so why not?

For the second time, her drunken stumbling caused her to run into a man as he was passing her by. This time, when she collided with his solid chest it stopped her in her tracks, and she struggled to remain upright even after he wrestled an arm on her shoulder to prevent her from falling.

“Dammit woman, watch where you’re going.” His voice was low and rough, almost spitting the words in her face.

“Fuck off, pay more attention to the people around you, or I’ll- She finally found the fight she was looking for, but was interrupted before her fingers could fully form into a fist.

“Hold your tongue before I cut it out of your mouth.” 

The man took her jaw in one of his large hands and made her look at him, digging his fingertips into the skin of her cheeks to keep her steady. Deep and old burns covered an entire side of his face, a horrible disfigurement that she identified immediately.  _ The Hound. _

She hazily watched as recognition flickered through his eyes, and he let her go harshly before stepping away. There was a brief look of fear when he put two and two together to realize he had been seconds away from becoming violent with the queen’s betrothed. 

“Yara Greyjoy.” All he said was her name, and he shook his head as if he wanted to be anywhere else than there.

“What’s Cersei’s rejected dog doing back in King’s Landing?” Yara couldn’t help but ask.

There was still a part of her that was itching to fight, even though she knew that picking a battle with Sandor Clegane was a terrible idea. Sure, she was a great fighter, but he was known across the land as being one of the best. He fought dirty, even dirtier than the Ironborn.

“I’m looking for someone, figured she might be here.” The Hound looked around, ignoring her venom but not taking his hand off the hilt of the sword at his side.

“You? Looking for a woman?” It was almost laughable- so she did. Even if she didn’t know the man that well. 

Perhaps she should tell Daenerys that she found him lurking about King’s Landing, to warn her of any danger. Then she rid herself of that thought; her earlier anger with Daario still clouded her mind.

“Not a woman, a girl.” He ignored her jab at him again and continued. “A little girl, Arya Stark.” 

He said it so nonchalantly she nearly thought he was playing a prank on her.  _ Why _ would this man be looking for a Stark girl?

“If you’re trying to hurt a Stark, I’ll have you killed. The North-”

“Are you stupid? I don’t want to hurt her, I want to save her.” He grit his teeth, the gesture making him look like he was living up to his name.

“I highly doubt that Arya Stark needs saving. She’s killed every enemy she’s ever had, I would suggest that you don’t get on her bad side.” Yara warned him. 

She wasn’t on the best of terms with Arya, or any of her siblings, but nevertheless they were meant to be allies. And the realm owed a great deal to the girl who killed the Night King and the false queen Cersei.

“She doesn’t need saving from any man or woman, I know that better than anyone.” He said. “She needs to be saved from herself, something I don’t think you would understand.”

“You’re right- I don’t understand, and I don’t care to.” Her tongue was venomous and all she wanted was to wrap the queen around her finger, not stand here in the heat in front of a man she didn’t like. “Are we done here?”

The Hound didn’t reply, but his jaw clenched tighter in annoyance. Just as they ran into each other, he brushed past her shoulder and lost himself in the busy crowd of King’s Landing.

Yara was left with alcohol simmering in her belly and blood, with an itch to stab a man, and no way to rid herself of her unfortunate feelings for Daenerys. She sighed heavily before opening the door to one of the brothels Tyrion recommended, cursing his name in her head.

###  **Arya**

“My lady,” Gendry stood from his chair the moment he saw her, and nodded his head in a bow. “I wasn’t expecting you here, I thought-”

“Forgive me for intruding,” She walked across the room to be closer to where he was. “I wanted to see you before I leave.”

His eyes lit up at her words. It made him look like a young love-struck boy instead of the man he was. Down in her gut, she felt bad for him, and for herself.

“You are welcome here - anytime. It can be your home, just say the word.” He was falling over his words now, rushing to get them out before she changed her mind again and left. “Can I get you anything, some water- or maybe food? Here, let me take your coat-”

He walked and nearly put his hands on her shoulders before stopping himself.

“I’m fine, I can take off my own clothes.” 

_ As you are aware,  _ she wanted to say, but didn’t want to give him the wrong impression. 

“Of course, my apologies.” He wiped his palms on his trousers. 

Arya took a step back, finding the distance between them more comforting than being close. Her gaze was ripped away from his, deciding instead to take in her surroundings. The castle interior was nothing special, very standard for Westeros architecture, but it had a warm and homey feel to it. 

In another life, she would have enjoyed living out here days here. But she was Arya Stark, not Arya Baratheon. Even thinking of herself with that name put an unfamiliar feel in her mouth, so she bit her tongue to avoid speaking.

“Are you alright?” Gendry asked.

There were a few of Gendry’s men at the outskirts of the room, all of them struggling to avoid looking at them. Whether it was to give them privacy or to spare themselves of the embarrassment, Arya couldn’t be sure, but she felt for them all the same.

“Show me around the castle?” She dodged his question in favor of her own.

It was a handy trick she learned to take control of conversations, to hide secrets or avoid sharing details. As she expected, Gendry went along with it and provided her an arm to hold onto before escorting her around.

His new home suited him well, and the men he commanded seemed loyal from what she could tell. The thought was comforting, but her mind was made up.

She listened as he explained the different areas of the castle, pointing to places of interest and nodding at the men they passed in the hallways. The longer it went on, the harder it seemed to walk away. 

Arya was dreading where the night was leading up to, it was made worse by the fact that Gendry had no idea. Perhaps she shouldn’t have come to Storm’s End. After all, it felt like she was going to blindside him again, and leave him alone in the cold without her. Surely he deserved better than that.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You seemed spaced out.” Gendry halted their walk and took her hand in his, giving it a light squeeze. “I mean, more spaced out than you usually seem.”

Arya shook her head, begging herself to not let out the words that were racing through her head, and through her heart. 

“Perfectly fine, I promise.” She assured him, and gestured for them to continue walking. 

Try as she might, she didn’t want to drop his hand just yet. It was hot, and a bit sweaty; but it seemed much like the man himself. She didn’t mean it in an intimate way, more like an open and genuine feel. Comforting and reliable. 

Her father would be proud that she found a man like Gendry, and the thought pained her greatly. Ned always wanted this type of life for her. For her to be a Lady, the wife to an honorable Lord. 

A thought crossed her mind, couldn’t she take him with her? Wouldn’t Gendry drop his lordship and responsibilities to be at her side? Her mind was racing now, Family, Duty, Honor- the words wouldn’t stop repeating. The Tully words were important, wouldn’t Gendry consider her to be his family?

She wished she was someone else, wearing someone else’s face and dealing with someone else’s problems. Anything would be better than this, better than watching the only man she had ever felt any sort of way towards practically give his life to her, only to watch her shove it back in his face.  _ Again.  _ But she couldn’t stop it. People like her weren’t meant to find love. She was trained to fight, to kill.

“Gendry. Stop.” She could stand it no longer, the words bubbling from her mouth and her stomach in knots.

Time moved slower when he looked at her. The wind was gently rustling his short hair, it was a bit longer than it had been at Winterfell. She wanted to run her hands across his head, caress his cheek, pull his jaw in close, press their bodies together. 

Instead she steeled herself and smiled sadly. He seemed to pick up on her thoughts, and the corners of his mouth turned up as well, even though his eyes were breaking her heart. 

“I know.” He whispered. 

She was a little girl again, fleeing the Lannisters and running north, gazing at Gendry like he was the only one in the world who mattered to her. Maybe that was true, deep down, even now when she was older and hardened. 

“I’m sorry.” Her voice broke, and with it the tears dripped down her face against her will. 

Gendry raised a hand, moving to brush them away. She flinched at the movement, but his hand settled on her cheek all the same, using his thumb to stroke the skin underneath her eye.

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Please-” Arya bit her lip hard, nearly drawing blood, but it didn’t matter. She couldn’t control her thoughts around him, couldn’t control her body. “Come with me.  _ Please _ .”

Gendry exhaled, maneuvering her into an embrace, right in the middle of the castle courtyard. There were no people around them to ruin this moment.  _ Our last moment _ , she kept reminding herself.

“I can’t come with you,” he told her, not letting her go. Not yet. “But you can always come back here. Always. You hear me?”

He looked down on her, the difference in height accentuated due to their bodies being pressed together. Her arms were wrapped around him, fingers clutching into the clothes on his back. 

This wasn’t the first time he had told her they couldn’t be together. And this wasn’t the first time she had left him. Arya remembered his warm, smiling face when they were younger. When she had cried in front of him and asked him not to go. 

She thought she heard him whisper into her neck,  _ I love you _ . But she couldn’t be sure. She didn’t want to be sure. So as she wiped her tears herself and said goodbye, she pretended she wasn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa, sorry it's been so long. E3 has made us extremely busy at work so I haven't had much time to write.
> 
> Happy Pride Month!


	10. Jaime, Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jaime shows Brienne around the castle, and Sansa shows Margaery her family history.

**Jaime**

He was finally _home_. Jaime felt like the luckiest man alive, and truly couldn’t believe his incredible luck that he was blessed enough to have Ser Brienne accompany him to Casterly Rock. 

His giddy excitement overflowed into the words he said, and he couldn’t stop himself from talking on and on. There were so many memories around him. For once in his life, the castle was his and his alone. No disapproving fathers. No menacing sisters. Nobody but him and Brienne and the people who looked up to him as a leader.

“Here is where I scraped my knee as a boy, Tyrion laughed for at least an hour behind my father’s back, while I was trying to brush it off.” He explained another recollection of his youth. 

Jaime pointed to a jagged part of the walkway where a few rocks had gotten dislodged, and even now after all those years had passed it hadn’t been fixed. 

He didn’t want it to be fixed. 

“Cersei doted over me for the rest of that day. She scolded our brother for laughing, but I told him later that it was fine. I just liked the attention she gave me. Even if father hated it.”

“I am glad you’re healing, and I appreciate you showing me around your home.” Brienne said to him, her voice was quiet, like she felt out of place walking around where he grew up. 

They had been around each other enough, especially recently now that the war was over, that he knew when she was uncomfortable. Her words would be too polite, too much like a lady, and not enough like the brash and stubborn woman he had come to...admire.

“Well, it’s been many, many years since I hurt my knee. I’m all better now, truly.” He couldn’t stop himself from acting cheerful, relishing in the way the sun beat down on his face and lit up the world around him.

“Ha ha.” She emphasised the sounds of her fake laugh, sarcasm dripping from the words. “I was referring to Cersei. That was the first I’ve heard you speak her name, since her passing.”

Suddenly he stopped walking, only noticing after Brienne turned to look back at him inquisitively, wondering why he paused his movement. Just as the sun seemed to reflect his mood, a cloud passed by overhead and cast it’s lonely greyness over the courtyard of Casterly Rock.

“Oh.” The word felt forgein in his mouth, his mind couldn’t stop repeating the word _Cersei_ over and over. 

_Cersei_. The way it felt to say her name, when he said it angrily, venom dripping from his tongue. Or when he would say it intimately, being held in her arms in the early morning, feeling himself inside her, as her name raced through his thoughts and out into the air.

“Forgive me, I didn’t mean...” Brienne berated herself for bringing attention to it.

“No, it’s quite alright.” Jaime took a deep breath and tried to relax his hand that was clenched around his sword hilt. 

A familiar throb raced down his right arm, and he wished that his good hand was still attached. 

The woman looked down at the only hand he had left, watching the whites of his knuckles fade into the normal color of his skin as he relaxed. Without speaking, she lay a hand on top of his and led him to start walking again.

“Show me more?” Brienne asked. It was less of a question and more of a command, she was eager to leave thoughts of Cersei behind in favor of seeing more of Casterly Rock.

So he continued talking, and they continued strolling down the streets. 

Though they were walking side by side, Jaime just knew that her cheeks were red. Perhaps his were too, but he didn’t care. Their fingers intertwined, it felt very much like holding his own hand. But hers was warm and felt like home. 

He thought of the way she comforted him and cradled his head in her arms when he cried. He should have felt regret for that night. He should have kept it professional and wrote the letter himself. But Brienne broke down his walls and drew him into her. Whether she knew it or not; it was an impossible force.

The people around them stared, wide eyed, but not drawing attention to themselves or what exactly they were seeing. 

_Let them talk_ , he thought, too old to care what people said behind his back. His whole life people had been talking behind his back. If he was to be the lord of this place, he needed to show them that he was human just like they were, and that meant leaving Cersei behind in the past.

All good things must come to an end, and after many hours of showing Brienne around every important place of the castle, the sun fell heavy in the sky and the world slipped into darkness. 

They retreated to his quarters for the night, and Brienne shook her head when he offered to pour her a glass of wine. He decided to leave the jug on the table, instead of partaking in drinking himself. It was never as fun to drink alone, and he had done too much of it the past several weeks.

“Suppose this is it, then.” Jaime sat next to her in his room. “No other castles to take, no other people to kill.”

There was a breeze flowing in from the open window, dispelling some of the tension.

“A great accomplishment.” Brienne said curtly.

“You are welcome to return to your own chambers whenever you’d like, I won’t keep you up just to talk.” He wanted to get straight to the point. Her eyes looked tired, and he knew he was tired as well. “We have been talking all day, all week even. I won’t be offended.”

“I don’t know why, but I…” Her brows furrowed, and Jaime watched as she methodically drew a circle on the table with her finger, over and over against the hardwood. Maybe he could place his hand over hers to get her to relax.

“You don’t want to sleep yet?” He asked, mocking offense. “Why, Lady Brienne, I had no idea you came here with the worst of intentions. Corning me in my bedroom to have your way with me-”

“ _No!_ ” Brienne said pointedly and leaned back in her chair.

Her hands were raised up as if she meant to push him away if he got closer, even if he hadn’t been moving at all. The action was _cute_ , or as cute as a woman like Brienne could be. 

_She can be very appealing,_ his head reminded himself. Or maybe it was his heart. He brushed that away. Now wasn’t the appropriate time. _When will be the appropriate time?_ His heart rebelled against him again.

“Brienne,” he leaned forward, careful not to intrude into her personal space, but wanting to be closer still. “Why are you here?”

“To protect you, as I said.” Her hands were clenched in her lap, nervous.

Jaime shook his head.

“You’ve seen the city. Nobody here will harm me. I have guards, there are soldiers in the city. We both know I don’t need more than I have.” He asked again, “Why are you _really_ here?”

She was quiet now. More than she was usually, even in his presence. Jaime figured the woman had never been this close to a man. Down inside himself, he was proud of that, and wanted it no other way. Deeper down, the twisting feeling of nerves swirled around. This experience was new to him as well.

They were the same. He had Cersei, but no one else. Even then, his relationship with his sister was different. They were born into the world together, grew up together, loved together. There was nothing to work towards, nothing exciting, and nothing scary. Nothing that pushed him to be a better man.

Brienne was terrifying. Not her size, or the features of her face and body, but her very soul. Jaime’s own was drawn to it, whether he wanted it to be or not. His thoughts spun around and his head raced when he was close to her. The palm of his good hand grew sweaty and clammy. He found himself brushing hair out of his face more often than not.

It was terrifying, the way she had a hold on him without doing anything at all. He could only imagine the trouble he would be in if she decided to act.

Brienne bit her bottom lip in concentration, and Jaime willed himself to keep looking in her eyes. 

It was easy. They were so beautiful.

“I don’t know.” She broke the silence, and then her words came flowing out without hesitation. “I want a home to protect. I want people to protect and look after. I want to watch the sun rise in the morning and fall asleep to the moon in the sky. I want to laugh and be happy around people who feel the same.”

She looked up from the table and found his eyes on hers. 

“I want you.” Brienne told him.

All he could do was smile. 

###  **Sansa**

It was difficult to say goodbye to Jon, but ultimately necessary. When Sansa returned to her room she made sure that her eyes were cleared of any tears, and composed herself with a deep breath before opening the door. A lady should be calm and collected.

“Everything all right?” Margaery smiled and asked when she saw her enter the bedroom. 

Sansa gave a curt nod before replying, “I am sad to see him go, but he’s going to where he belongs. The true north.”

With the way she seemed so relaxed, it almost felt like _their_ bedroom. Though, Margaery had never stayed the night. _Yet_ , a voice said in the back of Sansa’s head. She hastily rid herself of the thought.

The woman walked over and took Sansa’s hands in her own, gently stroking them with her thumbs. “There’s something I’ve always wanted to see in Winterfell. Would you take me?”

“Of course, where would you like to go?” 

There were no places she would withhold from Margaery. After all that she had been through, all that they _both_ had been through, Sansa allowed herself weakness with Margaery.

“The godswood. I understand it’s important to your family, if you don’t want me to go that’s perfectly fine-”

“My home is your home, I’d be honored to show you. It’s no problem at all.” Sansa smiled as she spoke. Her mouth was beginning to feel strange, with all the laughing and smiling she’d been doing. It had been years since she’d felt this free, it was exhilarating. 

They walked hand in hand this time, instead of one of them holding onto the other’s arm, and nobody in the castle batted an eye. Sansa could have sworn she saw one of the older ladies of the castle smile knowingly at her, but she did nothing but avert her eyes and try not to blush. 

Many people here had known her for a long time, and had watched her grow up. Surely it wouldn’t be so strange for them to watch her express true feelings. Whatever those feelings may be.

If there was anything Margaery was truly good at, it would be small talk. The girl could effortlessly hold a conversation with anyone in the realm. Though Sansa was no awkward teenager anymore, it was still comforting to know that her friend could take control. 

She talked about the weather, of course, and about the people in Winterfell. It was all very different than the rest of the kingdoms, according to Margaery. Sansa loved listening to her voice. 

She very sparingly interjected, like to respond when she asked how old that building was, or how long that man had lived here, or how many horses they kept available. Before too long they were strolling around the trees in the godswood, and the bustling noise from the castle was replaced with a comfortable silence.

Sansa took the opportunity to tell Margaery about the godswood and its history to Winterfell. Without it, Winterfell may never have been built. Brandon the Builder had constructed the castle around the small forest, and the weirwood tree was an integral part of the Stark’s history. 

She had never felt connected with religion, not like most of the people in Westeros. If she had to pick between the old gods or the new, Sansa wasn’t sure which she would pick. It was like her mother and father were both a part of her, and she didn’t want to separate either part from herself, for fear she would begin to forget them. 

Margaery listened to her explain as much, probably too much, with an unreadable expression on her face. Her friend nodded at the right times, and squeezed her fingers at the right times, leaving Sansa with that same feeling she had felt that night when Margaery arrived to Winterfell, as they talked together in the corridor outside her room.

They stopped at the base of the weirwood tree, and Margaery dropped her hand. Instantly, she missed the warmth from the other girl. Sansa tried not to feel disappointed by their lack of contact. 

Any disappointment was wiped away when she watched Margaery gaze at the weirwood with a look of pure wonder. It brought a smile to her face, soft and genuine, like the way her mother used to look as she watched her children play around in the castle courtyard. It felt like eons ago, but at that moment she was almost like a child again, full of wonder and hope for the world.

“I can’t thank you enough for bringing me here...and for telling me about your family.” Margaery was always good with words, this was the first moment Sansa had seen her at a loss for them.

“I’m glad to share it with someone.”

“It’s quite magical, isn’t it?” Margaery turned to face her again, and Sansa felt a bit sheepish when the girl caught her smiling.

She didn’t want to tell her about the battle that had taken place here. They all knew about it, and what Arya had done. For now, it was magical, and historical, and wonderful, and Sansa was overcome with emotions she didn’t know what to do with. 

Memories of her father flickered through her mind, ones with her mother and her brothers, and all the joy she had as a child. Would they be proud of her? How could they? The north was under the rule of the dragon queen. Despite her rebellious words, Sansa hadn’t yet followed through with her promise that they would no longer bow to a monarch from the south.

Almost as if Margaery could read her thoughts, she shook her head and placed a hand on Sansa’s cheek. “Don’t get too lost up there.” She tapped Sansa’s temple, the movement sending Sansa’s thoughts of childhood spiraling away in favor of new memories with Margaery. 

Suddenly she realized how close they had gotten, and how they were very much _alone_ now.

“We should talk about what happened.” Sansa blurted out. “Between us.”

There was no need to specify _what_ she was talking about. She could feel it in the air around them, and knew Margaery could too. And her hand was still on Sansa’s cheek, dangerously soft and full of yearning.

After a pause, she replied. “You are Lady of Winterfell. We can forget it if you want.”

Did Sansa want to forget? Did she want to forget the way Margaery’s lips felt underneath hers, or the way the girl seemed to drink her in, savoring every sigh she drew out?

“No, I don’t want to forget.” It was an easy decision.

“You don’t want to forget.” Margaery licked her lips, drawing Sansa’s gaze down to them. Soft and pink and almost irresistible. “What do you want then?”

“Just...you.”

The corners of her mouth turned up, making Sansa aware that she had been very openly staring. 

“Oh, I-I apologize-” Sansa tried to backtrack, not wanting to ruin their friendship by being too forward, but somehow wanting to ruin it in a different way.

With grace that could only come from a woman, Margaery hushed at her and stroked her hand across Sansa’s face until a single finger pressed against her lips to keep her quiet.

“I feel the same,” she told Sansa. “That’s all that matters for now. I don’t expect you to understand just yet.”

She wanted to understand. _God,_ did she want to. 

The swirling nerves that coursed through her, the memories of their past and the thoughts of their future, _together_ , they made her yearn. What for, Margaery was right: Sansa hadn’t the slightest idea. 

“Could we...try it again?” Sansa asked. If she had been fighting a blush before, it was an entirely lost cause now. At least in her opinion, the pros outweighed the cons.

“Only if you want to.” Margaery replied with a wink, and her hand returned to its new favorite place of resting against Sansa’s jawline.

She nodded once. So they pressed their lips together and practiced until her head spun and the sun set on the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I WILL FINISH THIS FIC....it will just take me a long time because I spend so much time working.


	11. Yara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which plans are made.

###  **Yara**

Fuck the Queen. Fuck the Hand. Fuck them all.

Yara’s eyebrow twitched for the third time that day, her arms crossed over her chest as she leaned back in her chair. The rest of the queen’s entourage were surrounding the table around her, all of them chatting on and on about the news, all of them desperate to impress the queen, all of them annoying. 

Her foot tapped against the stone ground, only slightly audible to the others around her. If it even made them half as pissed off as she was, that would be a victory. It was hard to stop her knee from bouncing with jitters, though that part wouldn’t tick them off. It was a personal battle she fought with herself to keep still. 

A small distraction from the increasingly awful small council meetings was the latest update from her brother. Turns out that Theon was quite pleased with Highgarden, now that it was safely and securely under the rule of Loras Tyrell. 

He had written many letters to her throughout his travels, and from the sound of it, he was happy for once in his life.

The knight of flowers was a personable leader, and Theon explained how the man slowly made him feel more at ease, until before he knew it they were friends. Not just a political alliance, but Theon genuinely appreciated spending his time with the other man.

If Yara didn’t know any better, she would have thought her brother fancied the Tyrell man. That thought was the only thing that had brought a cheeky smirk on her face that day. 

But good thoughts never last forever, and she was soon brought back into the present moment. One of the newest additions to their ragtag team of  _ supposed  _ leaders was Ser Bronn of the Blackwater. He didn’t come alone, they also found a few others to join the ranks of the small council.

Yes, Yara was cocky and confident, but this man was on an entirely different level, a fact that only increased her irritation. The sudden sound of Tyrion laughing from something Bronn said sent a jolt of anger through her. It was intensified by Daenerys’ slight chuckle when the queen raised a goblet of wine to her lips.

What Yara wouldn’t give to be laying on her bed instead...a beautiful woman next to her...maybe even two...maybe-

“Yara?” Her eyes snapped up at the sound of her name being called. There she found Daenerys staring at her inquisitively, honest and open. The exact opposite of how Yara felt. 

A few seconds elapsed and Tyrion cleared his throat. “We were asking if your ironborn in the city would attend the feast.”

“Ah,” Yara may have been annoyed, but at least he was nice enough to spare her the embarrassment of having to admit she was not paying attention. The queen already seemed irritated enough with her, picking up on her own mood and mimicking it. “I suppose they will; you know us. Never one to miss out on drinks, or women.”

“Very well.” Dany nodded her approval, and Yara struggled to keep her body still, again. The queen averted her eyes and addressed the rest of them. “We will welcome Daario into the city in true Westerosi fashion. Improving our relations with the people across the sea will be a great diplomatic feat.”

She continued to tune Dany's voice out.

Now that Daenerys had a few weeks of rule under her belt, the realm seemed to settle, as if the people were letting out the breath they were holding during wartime. It was a comforting thought that a noble and kind leader was on the throne. Though Yara herself didn’t care much for politics and the like, she had to admit Daenerys was a wonder to behold. 

There was still that fire in the queen’s eyes, and in the way she spoke, that sent a rush of adrenaline coursing through Yara’s veins every time she witnessed her nearly on the brink of losing control. But she put it to the side, telling herself that the people were safe now,  _ finally _ safe to live as they wish without fear of usurpers or mad kings or death. She had faith in Daenerys. In her queen, and in her future wife. 

That didn’t mean she had to be  _ happy _ with her all the time, of course. She was still pissed. About Daario, her conversation with Tyrion about him, the way Dany seemed to bite her lip when his name was brought up, all of it.

It left her seething with rage. Even now, when the conversation should have been entirely professional as they discussed their diplomatic plans, Yara saw that gleam in her queen’s eyes. She knew that look. It had been directed at her in the past, during those few moments they relished in each others physical presence. 

Her eyebrow twitched again, and she struggled to keep her leg still. 

Daenerys went on to discuss the specifics of the diplomatic plan, and everyone’s role to play in the coming weeks. There would be the feast, of course, considering that Daario would be bringing a small group of other political figures with him. 

Yara didn’t know much - or care enough to ask - about any of the other people he was bringing. It was bad enough to have to share a meal with Daario, something that she was not looking forward to in the slightest, let alone having to familiarize herself with his entourage.

After too much fancy talk, Dany placed her hands on the table and dismissed the small council. Bronn immediately jumped to his feet, running a hand through his hair, and gave them all a strange and flirtatious wink before exiting. The rest of them quickly followed, looking like a group of lost puppies. Most of them were relatively new to the council business, even if they had experience in other areas.

It was great that they had a full house to share all the work with now. Even still, it made Yara’s days too long, since it was harder to discuss things with ten people than it was with four.  _ For the good of the realm, _ she frequently reminded herself. It was important to get opinions from all groups of people - not just men with highborn upbringings like Tyrion.

After the others left, only Tyrion, Daenerys, and herself were left. A tense blanket of silence seemed to have been thrown over them, and Tyrion was caught in the crossfire of her and the queen’s mutual annoyance. 

“If you have something to say, say it.” Daenerys told her. The mask of a calm and collected leader came off, now that it was just the three of them. 

Deep down, Yara was flattered that they had become close enough to act this way around each other. But on the surface, things were different.

“Clearly I have nothing to say, as I’ve been silent this entire time.” 

“Exactly. You are not usually one to withhold words.” She pointed out to Yara. 

Even though Dany seemed upset as well, Yara knew it was only because of her own bad attitude. If she hadn’t projected her selfish annoyance onto the rest of the room, perhaps Daenerys would be more kind with her now. 

Something Tyrion told her a few days ago popped back into her head -  _ Communication is everything. She can’t know what you think, unless you say it. Take it from me. _

She clenched her jaw and leaned forward on the table.

“Alright then, I’ll talk.” Yara started. She was ready to get straight to the point. “I know you used to be lovers.”

Dany seemed almost shocked. “Is that what this is about?  _ Daario _ and I?”

Surely with a mind like hers, she had to have known Yara’s feelings? She wasn’t exactly subtle about it. Despite her best efforts, Yara was an open book around the queen. And yet, those same words from Tyrion kept nagging at her, covering her with a quiet guilt.

“Quite frankly, it’s none of your business what we are to each other.” Daenerys continued and rose from her seat.

Yara’s anger evaporated all at once, and what was left was regret. She wanted to apologize, and take Dany’s hand in hers and whisper her feelings. She would even do it while ignoring Tyrion’s presence, if he insisted on continuing to listen in on their conversation while pretending to read a scroll on the table.

“If I’m to be your wife, then I think it’s exactly my business.” Yara rose from her chair as well, careful now to keep her voice steady.

Now that they were standing side by side, eyes locked in a heated gaze, Yara felt her resolve wavering. 

Daenerys was right, as much as she didn’t want to admit it. It wasn’t really her business. It’s not like they were marrying out of love. She could sleep with a hundred men across the realm, and it still wouldn’t be any of her business. That’s just how kings and queens in Westeros worked. 

Although Yara didn’t want to be like all the men throughout history, Daenerys might want that - and it was her right to act however she felt.

“Shall I round up all of your lovers then? Would that make you feel better?” Dany jabbed a finger to Yara’s chest, making her take a step back.

“That’s beside the point-”

“You’re jealous, I understand.” Daenerys cut her off, before walking away to put distance between the two of them, pointedly not looking in Yara’s direction anymore. “Please know - that whatever he and I once had is finished.”

Before the words could fully sink in, Daenerys left the room, leaving an irritated Yara standing around like a fool, and an uncomfortable looking Tyrion still seated at the table.

She stood frozen for several moments. After her day long struggle to keep still, it was ironic that the moment when she needed to chase after her queen - her body decided to not move an inch.

“It’s hard…” She heard Tyrion speak up, he was quiet even as he pretended to continue reading.

“What is?” Yara’s voice was back to its usual gruffness.

“Loving someone who has loved another,” Tyrion stated.

Here he was again, telling her how to act and how she felt. She clenched her hand into a tight fist, grateful for the few seconds of relief the pressure provided. 

“That’s ridiculous, I don’t love her. Love has nothing to do with this.”

“No, maybe not now.” He looked up at her sadly. In his gaze, she could see the heartbreak from his past. “But you will love her, one day. That may be harder still.”

“I don’t need to listen to this-” 

Yara was hasty to speak up, but Tyrion was even quicker to interject.

“You don’t need to listen, no, of course not, I don’t control you. But you should listen - because you know I’m on your side, and you know that I’m right.”

There was a heavy pause. Yara was getting irritated with everyone around her always having an obsession with  _ being right _ . Even if he had just admitted to favoring her over Daario.

“Tyrion,” she took a deep breath before she addressed him, making her intentions clear. “I appreciate your help. However, I am a grown woman, and I can take care of myself without your guidance.”

He nodded his head once, accepting her statement with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“You seem tired. Perhaps it’s time to retire for the evening?” Tyrion stood and gestured her to the door as he continued. “Come, I’ll walk you to your room.”

She followed him silently, grateful to be leaving the stifling council room, with all its memories and the faint remembrance of the queen.

There were very few people roaming the castle at this point; most of the guards having escorted Daenerys back to her quarters already. It was comforting to be alone with Tyrion, even if she wished she was alone with Dany instead.

Despite their recent bickering, she was very fond of the queen’s company. 

Tyrion didn’t have to know all of the details, however, so she kept her lips sealed and savored the rare silence with him.

Soon she would be dodging the company of Daario and truly playing the part of a jealous lover. But for now - Yara only wanted to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry (for the wait, and for the grumpy Yara). 
> 
> Next chapter will be fluff, you have my word. Plus, it's already written :)


End file.
